MARK what Demon hither bends
Gnawing still his finger-ends,
Wrapt in contemplation deep,
Wrathful, yet inclin'd to weep.
Thy wizard gait, thy breath-check'd broken sigh,
Thy burning cheeks, thy lips, black, wither'd, dry ;
Thy side-thrown glance, with wild malignant eye,
Betray thy foul intent, infernal Jealousy.
Hence, thou self-tormenting fiend,
To thy spleen dug cave descend,
Fancying wrongs that never were,
Rend thy bosom, tear thy hair ;
Brood, fell Hate, within thy den,
Come not near the haunts of men.
Let man be faithful to his brother man,
Nor guileful, still revert kind Heaven's plan,
Then slavish fear, and mean distrust shall cease,
And confidence confirm a lasting mental peace.
This Ode first appeared in Maver's Glasgow periodical, the Selector, of 1805, Vol. I., page 268,—the sixth of the seven pieces with the signature “Modestus.” See the first Note to No. 5.—Ed.
[Semple 33]