THE DAGGER I love thee dagger mine, thou sure defence I love the beauty of thy glitter cold, A brooding Georgian whetted thee for war, Forged for revenge thou wert by Khirgez bold.

I am tired of this life,' he said; 'I am wearied of the same hollow bustle, and the same false glitter day after day.

Not all the glitter fops and fair ones prize, The pride of fools, and pity of the wise; Not all the show and mockery of state, The little, low, fine follies of the great; Not all the wealth which eastern pageants wore, What still our idolizing worlds adore; Can boast the least inimitable grace Which decks profusive this illustrious race.

Vainly glitter hill and plain, 85 And the air is calm in vain; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Of a sky serene and pure; Creature none can she decoy Into open sign of joy: 90 Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter even than gaiety?