THE OLD STOIC.

Riches I hold in light esteem,

And Love I laugh to scorn;

And lust of fame was but a dream,

That vanished with the morn:

And if I pray, the only prayer

That moves my lips for me

Is, “Leave the heart that now I bear,

And give me liberty!”

Yes, as my swift days near their goal:

‘ Tis all that I implore;

In life and death a chainless soul,

With courage to endure.