He asked no question--all were answered now By the first glance on that still, marble brow.[in] It was enough--she died--what recked it how? The love of youth, the hope of better years, The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears, The only living thing he could not hate, Was reft at once--and he deserved his fate, But did not feel it less;--the Good explore, For peace, those realms where Guilt can never soar: The proud, the wayward--who have fixed below 1800 Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe, Lose in that one their all--perchance a mite-- But who in patience parts with all delight? Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern Mask hearts where Grief hath little left to learn; And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost, In smiles that least befit who wear them most. XXII. By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest The indistinctness of the suffering breast; Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 1810 Which seeks from all the refuge found in none; No words suffice the secret soul to show, For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. On Conrad's stricken soul Exhaustion prest, And Stupor almost lulled it into rest; So feeble now--his mother's softness crept To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept: It was the very weakness of his brain, Which thus confessed without relieving pain. None saw his trickling tears--perchance, if seen, 1820 That useless flood of grief had never been: Nor long they flowed--he dried them to depart, In helpless--hopeless--brokenness of heart: The Sun goes forth, but Conrad's day is dim: And the night cometh--ne'er to pass from him.[io] There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, On Grief's vain eye--the blindest of the blind! Which may not--dare not see--but turns aside To blackest shade--nor will endure a guide! XXIII.[237] His heart was formed for softness--warped to wrong, 1830 Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long; Each feeling pure--as falls the dropping dew Within the grot--like that had hardened too; Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed, But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last.[238] Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock; If such his heart, so shattered it the shock. There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, Though dark the shade--it sheltered--saved till now. The thunder came--that bolt hath blasted both, 1840 The Granite's firmness, and the Lily's growth: The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell Its tale, but shrunk and withered where it fell; And of its cold protector, blacken round But shivered fragments on the barren ground! XXIV.