II.— Love a Virtue.

Strong passions mean weak will, and he

Who truly knows the strength and bliss

Which are in love, will own with me

No passion but a virtue‘ tis.

Few hear my word; it soars above

The subtlest senses of the swarm

Of wretched things which know not love,

Their Psyche still a wingless worm.

Ice-cold seems heaven's noble glow

To spirits whose vital heat is hell;

And to corrupt hearts even so

The songs I sing, the tale I tell.

These cannot see the robes of white

In which I sing of love. Alack,

But darkness shows in heavenly light,

Though whiteness, in the dark, is black!