page 186

Ambition, fame, and love.

The sun climbs up the mountain side at morn,
  To ope the lily's breast with golden key,
  The lark ascends with songs of wildest glee,
To cheer his feathered love, when day is born;
And, like the sun, my lily I'd adorn,
  I'd open up the heart that's dear to me!
  And, like the lark, each song should be for thee!—
Ambition, of thy true affection shorn,
  Holds out no prize to woo me up its height,
For, after all, what is this loveless fame?
  A phantom bird that lures us in its flight
Unto the glimmer of a transient flame,
  Then leaves us starless in the vacant night,
Among the hollow echoes of a name.