Ah! vile deceiver, false, though seeming fair!
Thou veiled assassin, thy victim's in thy snare!
Her honour and her happiness are slain;

And yet, alas! she pleads with thee in vain.

He heeds her not, though tears stream from her eyes.

To yonder bridge in agony she flies;

No friendly hand is now outstretched to save,
Weary of life, she seeks a watery grave.

The penalty of misplaced love she pays;

Her lover's villainy cuts short her days.

Her shame to hide from worldlings' scorn and jeers, From home and friends she madly disappears.

CHAPTER IX.

Breaches of Promise.

"He who is most slow in making a promise, is the most faithful in the performance of it."-Rousseau.

66

66

-:0:

"Nay, seek no more with soothing art

(Since all our hours of love are vanished)
To cheer with hope this aching heart,

From which all thought of joy is banished!
Thou lov'st no more! too well I know,

All hope to bring thee back is vain!
And, as I'd hide, from all, my woe,
Oh! let us never meet again!

'I'll shun thee in the festive hall,

Where joyous forms around are seen,
Lest I might weep to think of all

Those scenes where we've together been!

I'll shun thee where the tide of song

Comes o'er my ear with well-known strain,
Thy tones would on my mem'ry throng-
So let us never meet again.

"No more my favourite bard I'll read,

For thou hast mark'd each well-known page: 'Tis cold forgetfulness I need ;

Nought else my sorrow could assuage.

K