A LAS , how many vain and bitter things
My zeal, and pride, and natural haste have wrought!
Yea, thou, my soul, by word, and deed, and thought,
The curse of selfishness hath scorch'd thy wings:
There is a fire within, I feel it now,
A smouldering mass of strong imaginings,
That heat my heart, and burn upon my brow,
And vent their hissing lava on my tongue,
Scathing, unsparing: — yet, my will is just,
My wrath is ever quickened by a wrong,
I flame — to strike oppressors to the dust,
To crush the cruel, and confound the base,
To welcome insolence with calm disgust,
And brand the scoffer's forehead with disgrace