Alas! deluded Sophronia! The faithless Abdurachman, whom she
supposed to have seen in a dream, regarded her not; even lots were cast
for her, and she fell to the share of one whom she did not know. The
beautiful Sophronia took poison and expired.
G.W.N.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
* * * * *
THE LIBERTINE'S CONFESSION.
_In Imitation of the Writers of the Sixteenth Century._
I'm sad and sore afraid,
That fickle, and forsworn,
I've sported life away,
And now am left forlorn.
Poor fool! I dreamt the years
Of youth would never fly,
And pleasure's brimming bowl
Methought could ne'er run dry.
That woman's bounteous love
Should e'er wax cold for me!
It seem'd that she must first
A woman cease to be.
Her fondest smiles I thought
My rights by charter were;
Her sighs, her tears, forsooth,--
Whilst I--was free as air.
I've knelt at many a shrine,
Of wit and beauty too;
I've lisp'd light vows to all,
And sworn that all were true.
My pastime was to gain
Their young and grateful love,
Then break the heart I won,
And straight to others rove.
Ah! wild wit, now at last
Thy vagrancies are o'er;
The ear and gazing eye
That you enthrall'd before.
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