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THE POETASTER. Act I, Scene 1.

O my Tibullus, Let us not blame him; for against such chances The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof. We may read constancy and fortitude To other souls; but had ourselves been struck With the like planet, had our loves, like his, Been ravished from us by injurious death, And in the height and heat of our best days, It would have cracked our sinews, shrunk our veins, And made our very heart-strings jar like his.

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Let us not blame him: for against such chances The heartiest strife of manhood is scarce proof. We may read constancy and fortitude To other souls--but had ourselves been struck Even in the height and heat of our keen wishing, It might have made our heart-strings jar, like his.

contributed to Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, January, 1822. Reprinted as Fragment No. 59, P. W., 1893, p. 460.