Her sting may haply pierce more timid hearts.
Some, though they wish it, are not steel'd enough,
Nor is each would-be villain conscience-proof.
And what, my friend, is left my song besides?
30
No school-day wealth that roll'd in silver tides,
No dreams of hope that won my early will,
Nor love, that pain'd in temporary thrill;
No gold to deck my pleasure-scorn'd abode,
No friend to whisper peace, to give me food.