40 By expectation every day beguiled, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped 50 In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, But well thou playedst the housewife's No braver chief could Albion boast part, And all thy threads with magic art Than he with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Albion's coast With warmer wishes sent. He loved them both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her again. Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; ΙΟ Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 15 But waged with death a lasting strife, He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; 45 50 5 And so long he, with unspent power, And ever, as the minutes flew, At length, his transient respite past, No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, 40 45 50 |