CCIII.

And oh! that quickening of the heart, that beat! How much it costs us! yet each rising throb Is in its cause as its effect so sweet, That Wisdom, ever on the watch to rob Joy of its alchemy, and to repeat Fine truths; even Conscience, too, has a tough job To make us understand each good old maxim, So good--I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em.