“Descended from an ancient line . . .” Ah, Hesper was too young to know the subtle comfort of that, but she might have listened. He turned the page to the last stanza, reading to himself. For me secure from Fortune’s blows Secure of what I can not lose In my small pinnace I can sail Contemning all the blustering roar; And running with a merry gale With friendly stars my safety seek, Within some little winding creek And see the storm from shore. That was the way to take life, in contemplation and serenity.
