79 
And now I stand a thing apart, 
Scorning the scenes I loved before, 
With no communion for a heart 
Struck deeply — to the core ; 
And vain each effort, still, I find, 
To wear the canker from my mind. 
For, ah! the heart, — the only one, 
Where mine its sorrows would repose, 
The only mind which like my own 
Has felt, and scorned the woes, 
The false, the cold, inflict — is far, 
And worshipped like some distant star. 
