f Love.
But Love's true flower before it springs, Deep in the breast its fibres shoots,
And clasps the heart, and round it clings, And fastens by a thousand roots;
Then bids its strengthen'd blossoms climb,
And brave the chilling power of Time.
His resolution was not the calm sentiment of philosophy, and reason. It was a gloomy and desperate purpose; the creature not of hope, but of a mind austerely held to its daring : that felt as if it were satisfied with the naked effort, and prepared to give success, or miscarriage, to the winds.
Custom without reason is no better than ancient error.
Alas—how light a cause may move
Dissensions between hearts that love!
Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied;
That stood the storm, when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,
Like ships, that have gone down at sea,
When heav'n was all tranquillity !
