A heartless flirt! with false and wicked eye,
Dost thou not feel thyself a living lie?
Dost thou not hear the ‘still small voice’ upbraid
Thy inmost conscience for the part thou’st played?
How mean the wish to victimize that one
Who ne’er had wooed thee, hadst thou not begun!
Who mark’d with pain thy saddened gaze on him,
Doom’d but to fall a martyr to thy whim;
Whose pallid cheek might win a fiend to spare,
Or soothe the sorrows that had blanched his hair: