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Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret, Endanger'd glory, life itself beset; The joy untasted, the contempt or hate 'Gainst those who fain would triumph in our fate;

The hopeless past, the hasting future driven Too quickly on to guess if Hell or Heaven; Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remember'd not

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So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot; Things light or lovely in their acted time, But now to stern Reflection each a crime; The withering sense of evil unreveal'd, Not cankering less because the more conceal'd;

All, in a word, from which all eyes must start,

That opening sepulchre - the naked heart Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake, To snatch the mirror from the soul and break. Ay-Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all, All all - before est fall.

beyond — the deadli

Each has some fear, and he who least be

trays,

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The only hypocrite deserving praise: Not the loud recreant wretch who boasts and flies;

But he who looks on death and silent dies.

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Strange though it seem, yet with extremest grief

Is link'd a mirth - it doth not bring relief: That playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles, And smiles in bitterness - but still it smiles;

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And sometimes with the wisest and the
best,
Till even the scaffold echoes with their
jest!

Yet not the joy to which it seems akin
It may deceive all hearts, save that within.
Whate'er it was that flash'd on Conrad, now
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow:
And these his accents had a sound of
mirth,

As if the last he could enjoy on earth; Yet 'gainst his nature, for through that short life, Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife.

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once strove

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To meet his passion- but it would not be.
I felt I feel love dwells with- with
the free:
I am a slave, a favour'd slave at best,
To share his splendour, and seem very blest!
Oft must my soul the question undergo,
Of"Dost thou love?" and burn to an-
swer, "No!"

Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,
And struggle not to feel averse in vain;
But harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
And hide from one perhaps another

there.

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He takes the hand I give not- -nor with-
hold,
Its pulse nor check'd-nor quicken'd
calmly cold:

And when resign'd, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate.
No warmth these lips return by his im-
prest,

And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the rest.

Yes had I ever proved that Passion's zeal,

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I am his slave — but, in despite of pride, 'T were worse than bondage to become his bride.

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at once her spear and

Oh! too convincing, dangerously dear,
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can
wield,
To save, subdue
shield:
Avoid it- Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs,
Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers!
What lost a world and bade a hero fly?
The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye.
Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven;
By this how many lose not earth - but
heaven!

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Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe!

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