The Tyrant Sway.

By George Pope Morris

The heart that owns thy tyrant sway,

Whate'er its hopes may be,

Is like a bark that drifts away

Upon a shoreless sea!

No compass left to guide her on,

Upon the surge she's tempest-torn —

And such is life to me!

And what is life when love is fled?

The world, unshared by thee?

I'd rather slumber with the dead,

Than such a waif to be!

The bark that by no compass steers

Is lost, which way soe'er she veers —

And such is life to me!