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269

Chain'd to the rock, or lifted to the skies,
Round his white brow benignant rainbows rise;
Hope in their smiles—can hope that breast reveal,
Whose hidden fires a secret foe conceal?
Whose baneful deeds, like Geyser's fountain prove,
A heart that burns, or boils, with hate or love.
Destructive powers! if fiends on earth are known,
Their reign is passion—and its height their throne.