Page:Poems translated from the French of Madame De la Mothe Guion.djvu/35

 Then, let the price be what it may,

Though poor, I am prepar'd to pay:

Come shame, come sorrow; spite of tears,

Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears;

One soul, at last, shall not repine,

To give you room, come, reign in mine!

THOU hast no lightnings, O! thou Just!

Or I their force should know;

And if thou strike me into dust,

My soul approves the blow.

The heart, that values less its ease,

Than it adores thy ways;

In thine avenging anger, sees

A subject of its praise.

Pleas'd, I could lie conceal'd, and lost

In shades of central night;

Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st,

But lest I grieve thy sight.

Smite me, O! thou, whom I provoke!

And I will love thee still:

The well-deserv'd, and righteous stroke,

Shall please me, though it kill.

Am I not worthy, to sustain

The worst thou canst devise;