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.