And differently the poison works
On every differing mind,
Some grow false as the false they blamed,
And thus 'tis with mankind:
But there are some whose loftier mood
Grows maddened on such things to brood.
The young warm heart whose faith and love
Were all too prompt at first,
What must it feel when these are turned
To darkness and distrust?
Wormwood to know that heart has been
Dupe of the false, prey of the mean.
Such will not ask for sympathy,
Knowing they ask in vain,—
Nor yield to softer feelings way
To be deceived again;
And bitter laugh, and scornful sneer,
Become at once their shield and spear.
Such, methinks, was the destiny
That threw its chill o'er thee;
Thou hadst mixed with the false, till all
Seemed but alike to be.
Could not the workings of thine heart
Another, holier creed impart?
