Xlii

"No help I sought; in sorrow turned adrift, Was hopeless, as if cast on some bare rock; Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, Nor raised my hand at any door to knock. I lay where, with his drowsy mates, the cock From the cross-timber of an out-house hung: Dismally tolled, that night, the city clock! At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, Nor to the beggar's language could I fit my tongue.