LINES FROM LAMAETINE. 413 



A body organised by fond caress 



Warmed into seeming tenderness, 



A mere automaton, on which our love 



Plays, as on puppets, when their wires we move. 



No ! when that feeling quits thy glazing eye, 



'Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky. 



No, God will never quench his spark divine, 



Whether within some glorious orb it shine, 



Or lighten up the spaniel's tender gaze, 



Who leads his poor blind master through the maze 



Of this dark world ; and when that task is o'er, 



Sleeps on his humble grave, to wake no more." l 



" Jocelyn," Episode par A. de Lamartine, tome ii. p. 155. 



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