Of self is lost, and soul and body dies;
But mimicry of this we will not bear.’
Nocturne.
Actor, whose art, like a fell grapnel, drags
Down on the bottom of the stream of crime,
Sinks and returns, producing every time
Some shape deform of misery and rags,
Steeped in pollution, overgrown with flags,
Weeds of debauchery,—let a drunkard’s cries