Her craftiest art and brightest smile.
This mind has trac’d its own career,
Nor follow’d blind, where others trod;
Nor, mov’d by love, or hope or fear,
E’er bent to man, or worshipp’d God.
Then hope not now to touch with love,
Or in its chains a heart to draw,
All earthly spells have fail’d to move;
And heav’n’s whole terrors cannot awe:
A heart, that like some mountain vast,