XXIX.

I had brought sorrow on his gray hairs down, And cast the darkness of my branded name (For so _he_ deem’d it) on the clear renown, My own ancestral heritage of fame. And yet he bless’d me! Father! if the dust Lie on those lips benign, my spirit’s trust Is to behold thee yet, where grief and shame Dim the bright day no more; and thou wilt know That not through guilt thy son thus bow’d thine age with woe!