Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/197

186

And does but waste away the mind On which it preys:—in vain Would they in whom its poison lurks A worthier state attain. Indifference proud, immortal aim, Had, aye, the demigods of fame.

The dew of night falls cold around, Yet can it not allay The fever burning on thy cheek, That eats thy life away; For thou dost know thy birthright sold For even less than his of old.

Thou know'st what thou hast power to be, Thou know'st, too, what thou art;