@2N@1O "book," but your own heart, was written, Borrow, When pen and paper met,—that heart of hope And havoc, English pride and world-wide sorrow; Here on a breathless page two rascals cope, Or here the Roman gypsy greets us smiling, True to his tribe's inscrutable constraint; That picture fades, and Murtagh moves beguiling, Or Belle the bold, or Winifred the saint; Down to Lavengro's dingle when we go We go down also into melancholy, And wrestle through the night with nameless woe, With human horror and eternal folly. O brood, or laugh, or rage from Thames to Tiber,— Knight of the ancient ruth and fearless fibre! |