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56 "Lady—methought thy love was his, for whom "This arm redeem’d thee from a fiery tomb."

"My love stern Seyd's! Oh—No—No—not my love— "Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove "To meet his passion—but it would not be. "I felt—I feel—love dwells with—with the free. "I am a slave, a favoured slave at best, "To share his splendour, and seem very blest! "Oft must my soul the question undergo, "Of—'Dost thou love?' and burn to answer, 'No!' "Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, "And struggle not to feel averse in vain; "But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, "And hide from one—perhaps another there. "He takes the hand I give not—nor withhold— "Its pulse nor check’d—nor quicken’d—calmly cold:<br / > "And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight<br / > "From one I never loved enough to hate.<br / > "No warmth these lips return by his imprest,<br / > "And chilled Remembrance shudders o'er the rest.<br / >