self having the bliss of
rendering blessed. If selfishness be thus seen to exist even in love
itself, I would fain hope that it is of an elevated and peculiar kind,
and not that which grovels, dragging downwards, and therefore justly
deserving of the name. I am the more anxious in regard to this on
account of its being in my own case felt so deeply. It maintained its
ground with more or less firmness at all times, and ultimately
triumphed, in despite of all efforts made to the contrary over the
suggestions of prudence and even the sterner reasonings of the sense of
justice. In times of sadness and melancholy, which, like the preacher's
days of darkness, were many, when hope scarcely lit the gloom of the
heart on which it sat though the band of love was about its brow, I
busied myself in endeavouring to form resolutions to resign my
pretensions to the warmer regard of her who was the object of all this
serious solicitude; but neither she herself, nor time and place seemed,
so far as I could see, disposed in the least to aid me in these efforts
of self-control and denial; and, indeed, even at best, I much suspect
that the resolutions of lovers in such cases are only like the little
dams which the rivulet forms in itself by the frail material of stray
grass-piles, and wild-rose leaves, easily overturned by the next slight
impulse that the wave receives. In a ballad called 'Lanazine,' written
somewhat in the old irregular style, sentiments relating to this matter,
a little--and only a little--disguised, are set forth. The following is
a portion of these records, written from time to time for the sake of
preserving to the memory what might once be deeply interesting to the
heart:--

"'O who may love with warm true heart,
And then from love refrain?
Who say 'tis fit we now should part
And never meet again?

"'The heart once broken bleeds no more,
And a deep sound sleep it hath,
Where the stir of pain ne'er travels o'er
The solitude of death.

"'The moon is set, and the star is gone,
And the cure, though cruel, cures,
But the heart left lone must sorrow on,
While the tie of life endures.

"'He had nor gold nor land, and trow'd
Himself unworthy all,
And sternly in his soul had vow'd
His fond love to recall.

"'For her he loved he would not wrong,
Since fate would ne'er agree,
And went to part with a sore, sore heart,