A name enrolled on fame's bright page forever—
A wonder, and a theme to after age!
Talk not of love! I know how, wasted, broken,
The trusting heart learns its sad lesson o'er—
Counting the roses Passion's lips have spoken,
Amid the thorns that pierce it to the core.
Oh, heart of mine! that when life's summer hour
For thee with love's bright blossoms hung the bough,
Too quickly found an asp beneath the flower—
And is naught left thee but ambition now?