LXXVI.

And then with tears, and sighs, and some slight kisses, They parted for the present--these to await, According to the artillery's hits or misses, What sages call Chance, Providence, or Fate-- (Uncertainty is one of many blisses, A mortgage on Humanity's estate;)[hv] While their belovéd friends began to arm, To burn a town which never did them harm.