dots-menu
×

TO ROTHA Q—-


ROTHA, my Spiritual Child! this head was grey When at the sacred font for thee I stood; Pledged till thou reach the verge of womanhood, And shalt become thy own sufficient stay: Too late, I feel, sweet Orphan! was the day For stedfast hope the contract to fulfil; Yet shall my blessing hover o’er thee still, Embodied in the music of this Lay, Breathed forth beside the peaceful mountain Stream Whose murmur soothed thy languid Mother’s ear 10 After her throes, this Stream of name more dear Since thou dost bear it,–a memorial theme For others; for thy future self, a spell To summon fancies out of Time’s dark cell. 1827.