"Give me the bracelets that your warriors wear,"
The Roman traitress to the Sabine cried,
"Give me the toys, and I will be your guide,
And to your host the city's gates unbar."
Then to the walls each eager warrior rushed,
And on the base Tarpeia as he pa**ed,
Each from his arm the ma**ive circlet cast,
Till her slight form beneath the weight was crushed.
Thus are our idle wishes. Thus we sigh
For some imagined good yet unattained;--
For wealth, or fame, or love, and which once gained
May like a curse o'er all our future lie.
Thus in our blindness do we ask of fate,
The gifts that once bestowed may crush us with their weight.