Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/388

346 And weave their web again; some, bowed and bent,

Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time,

And perish with the reed on which they leant;

Some seek devotion—toil—war—good or crime,

According as their souls were formed to sink or climb.

XXIII.

But ever and anon of griefs subdued

There comes a token like a Scorpion's sting,

Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued;

And slight withal may be the things which bring

Back on the heart the weight which it would fling

Aside for ever: it may be a sound—

A tone of music—summer's eve—or spring—

A flower—the wind—the Ocean—which shall wound,

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound;