To spy her weakness out, and wrest away
A power that could be kept by power alone.—
How sad for woman when her hopes were based
On practice that must all her heart conceal,
That must be conquering ever or be crush’d!
At first her love for art had kept her up,—
And for success, and for a sister dear,
Who shared her earnings, who, while cheer’d the crowds,
At last, had died, and left her all alone.
And, after that, her soul had loathed applause,