There are moments which act as a plough,
And there is not a furrow appears
But is deep in my soul as my brow.
5.
"Let the young and the brilliant aspire
To sing what I gaze on in vain;
For sorrow has torn from my lyre
The string which was worthy the strain.
"B."
The following letters written during the stay of this party at Genoa will be found,—some of them at least,—not a little curious.