WISHING.

When I reflect how little I have done,

And add to that how little I have seen,

Then furthermore how little I have won

Of joy, or good, how little known, or been:

I long for other life more full, more keen,

And yearn to change with such as well have run —

Yet reason mocks me — nay, the soul, I ween,

Granted her choice would dare to change with none;

No,— not to feel, as Blondel when his lay

Pierced the strong tower, and Richard answered it —

No,— not to do, as Eustace on the day

He left fair Calais to her weeping lit —

No,— not to be, Columbus, waked from sleep

When his new world rose from the charmèd deep.