Choose thou a virgin Heart, nor now behold
This face of Calmness with a bosom cold—
Cold to new Love and, while my Life shall last,
Hopeless of Joy and dwelling in the past!
Tho’ he returns not, justice bids me fly
Thy prayer; thy Hand ’tis Honour to deny;
And oh! if yet I might my Visions trust,
And he returns, Love, tell me to be just!”
THE AMOURS OF G[EORGE].
“Brother, what tho’ thy mind is strong,