The Victories of Love

my Mother,

st word or h

ll discommen

it my hea

, never ne

ge of the n

her dear fa

lovelier th

d gravity

y's base b

e poor who

, though a c

that the wh

eding need,

nseen amid

s, till I sou

r, in an e

e Vaughan, t

as much a

use, to an

n mine, it

ad that

joy in he

is his ow

thought to

us she take

to see him

for her rema

o gaily cle

timely trut

elf so well

abundant ye

of such ha

ot that his

prospects, bi

th small suit,

y, when sh

sweetness

d every br

s bated l

and kindnes

can no mor

grace, were st

d flattery b

ss! Say I'

presence, c

, as an an

of reproa

ks told my

not happy

ause 'twas li

pel her, tr

e; I strov

'd foolishn

drunkard's;

iffen'd, ache

ooer! Blam

ay, dear M

t perfectne

as once it

chafe at so

to charlata

nd clods conc

l fathers be

bread; eno

days cond

rain'd, love'

, scentless

en the cons

haste they

of colour

by month, r

graces, wh

natural gro

then! Bright

onely clou