IN hearts like thine ne'er may I hold a place
Till I renounce all sense, all shame, all grace—
That seat,—like seats, the bane of Freedom's realm,
But dear to those presiding at the helm—
Is basely purchased, not with gold alone;
Add Conscience, too, this bargain is your own—
'T is thine to offer with corrupting art
The rotten borough of the human heart.
?1814.
[From an autograph MS., now for the first time printed.]