she chants the solitary song,
The soft lament for him who tarries long--
For him, whose distant relics vainly crave
The coronach's wild requiem to the brave!

"'Tis Heaven--not man--must charm away the woe
Which bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;
Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear
Of half its bitterness for one so dear:
A nation's gratitude perchance may spread
A thornless pillow for the widow'd head;
May lighten well her heart's maternal care,
And wean from penury the soldier's heir."

* * * * *

LETTER 183. TO MR. MOORE.

"May 31. 1814.

"As I shall probably not see you here to-day, I write to request
that, if not inconvenient to yourself, you will stay in town till
_Sunday_; if not to gratify me, yet to please a great many others,
who will be very sorry to lose you. As for myself, I can only
repeat that I wish you would either remain a long time with us, or
not come at all; for these _snatches_ of society make the
subsequent separations bitterer than ever.

"I believe you think that I have not been quite fair with that
Alpha and Omega of beauty, &c. with whom you would willingly have
united me. But if you consider what her sister said on the subject,
you will less wonder that my pride should have taken the alarm;
particularly as nothing but the every-day flirtation of every-day
people ever occurred between your heroine and myself. Had Lady * *
appeared to wish it--or even not to oppose it--I would have gone
on, and very possibly married (that is, _if_ the other had been
equally accordant) with the same indifference which has frozen over
the 'Black Sea' of almost all my passions. It is that very
indifference which makes me so uncertain and apparently capricious.
It is not eagerness of new pursuits, but that nothing impresses me
sufficiently to _fix_; neither do I feel disgusted, but simply
indifferent to almost all excitements. The proof of this is, that
obstacles, the slightest even, _stop_ me. This can hardly be
_timidity_, for I have done some impudent things too, in my time;
and in almost all cases, opposition is a stimulus. In mine, it is
not; if a straw were in my way, I could not stoop to pick it up.

"I have sent this long tirade, because I would not have you suppose
that I