VI.

But soon they grow again and leave their nest. "Oh!" saith the Psalmist, "that I had a dove's Pinions to flee away, and be at rest!" And who that recollects young years and loves,-- Though hoary now, and with a withering breast, And palsied Fancy, which no longer roves Beyond its dimmed eye's sphere,--but would much rather Sigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather?