"_A little onward lend thy guiding hand To these dark steps, a little further on!_"[CD] --What trick of memory to _my_ voice hath brought This mournful iteration? For though Time, 4 The Conqueror, crowns the Conquered, on this brow Planting his favourite silver diadem, Nor he, nor minister of his--intent To run before him, hath enrolled me yet, Though not unmenaced, among those who lean Upon a living staff, with borrowed sight. 10 --O my own Dora, my belovèd child![209][CE] Should that day come--but hark! the birds salute The cheerful dawn, brightening for me the east; For me, thy natural leader, once again Impatient to conduct thee, not as erst 15 A tottering infant, with compliant stoop From flower to flower supported; but to curb Thy nymph-like step swift bounding o'er the lawn,[CF] Along the loose rocks, or the slippery verge Of foaming torrents.[210]--From thy orisons 20 Come forth; and, while the morning air is yet Transparent as the soul of innocent youth, Let me, thy happy guide, now point thy way, And now precede thee, winding to and fro, Till we by perseverance gain the top 25 Of some smooth ridge, whose brink precipitous Kindles intense desire for powers withheld From this corporeal frame; whereon who stands, Is seized with strong incitement to push forth His arms, as swimmers use, and plunge--dread thought, For pastime plunge--into the "abrupt abyss,"[CG] 31 Where ravens spread their plumy vans, at ease!