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His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, Love's day-dawn on his lips, Put on such heavenly, spiritual light, At the same moment in his steadfast eye Were Virtue's native crest, th' innocent soul's Unconscious meek self-heraldry,--to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. He suffer'd nor complain'd;--though oft with tears He mourn'd th' oppression of his helpless brethren,-- And sometimes with a deeper holier grief Mourn'd for the oppressor--but this in sabbath hours-- A solemn grief, that like a cloud at sunset, Was but the veil of inward meditation Pierced thro' and saturate with the intellectual rays It soften'd.

1812. First published (with many alterations of the MS.) in Lit. Rem., i. 277. First collected P. and D. W., 1887, ii. 364. Compare Teresa's speech to Valdez, Remorse, Act IV, Scene II, lines 52-63 (ante, p. 866).