To write my name for ever there.”
These are stolen from some lines of Pope’s:—
“With what strange raptures would my soul be blest,
Were but her book an emblem of her breast,
As I from that all former marks efface,
And, uncontroll’d, put new ones in their place,
So might I chase all others from her heart,
And my own image in the stead impart;
But ah! how short the bliss would prove if he
Who seized it next might do the same by me.”