At Bala-Sala, Isle Of Man
Broken in fortune, but in mind entire And sound in principle, I seek repose Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose, In ruin beautiful. When vain desire Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire To cast a soul-subduing shade on me, A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee; A shade, but with some sparks of heavenly fire Once to these cells vouchsafed. And when I note The old Tower's brow yellowed as with the beams Of sunset ever there, albeit streams Of stormy weather-stains that semblance wrought, I thank the silent Monitor, and say "Shine so, my aged brow, at all hours of the day!"
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"Broken in fortune, but in mind entire..."
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