I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!
I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.
And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
What exile from himself can flee? To zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life--the demon Thought.
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.