194
ETHEL CHURCHILL.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LETTERS.
It is a weary and a bitter hour
When first the real disturbs the poet's world,
And he distrusts the future. Not for that
Should cold despondency weigh down the soul:
It is a glorious gift, bright poetry,
And should be thankfully and nobly used.
Let it look up to heaven!
"It is earlier than I thought," said Walter Maynard, as the sound of one of the French clocks disturbed the gloomy revery in which he had been plunged; "but I have not spirits to go out. Every day I feel more and more disinclined to the least exertion; and yet I never was in a position that demanded it
