But waking, felt and found it as before,
Her hope still less, and her desire still more.
SIR J. HARRINGTON.
—— Love is only root and crop of care,
The body's foe, the heart's annoy and cause of pleasures rare
The sickness of the mind and fountain of unrest,
The gulf of guile, the pit of pain, of grief the hollow chest;
A fiery frost, a flame that frozen is with ice,
A heavy burden light to bear, a virtue fraught with vice;