These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
Heaven open'd wide Her ever during gates, harmonious sound, On golden hinges moving.
Courage never to submit of yield.
The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.
A short retirement urges a sweet return.