II.— Love in Tears.

If fate Love's dear ambition mar,

And load his breast with hopeless pain,

And seem to blot out sun and star,

Love, won or lost, is countless gain;

His sorrow boasts a secret bliss

Which sorrow of itself beguiles,

And Love in tears too noble is

For pity, save of Love in smiles.

But, looking backward through his tears,

With vision of maturer scope,

How often one dead joy appears

The platform of some better hope!

And, let us own, the sharpest smart

Which human patience may endure

Pays light for that which leaves the heart

More generous, dignified, and pure.