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41

XV.

Deplore ye not his fate, though he hath dealt
In woe, and often shed the bitter rain;
He is not luckless though he may complain,
And long with ill and poverty hath dwelt;
The poet who would make another melt
Himself must know well the dissolving vein,
And pathos must be purchased still with pain;
For he can ne'er describe who hath not felt.
Misfortune's torrent, which no courage stems;
Despair's stagnation, and distraction's whirl;
Insults that fire, humilities that freeze;
Are genius' elements;—her purest gems
By such extremes are nurtured, as the pearl
Itself is but the creature of disease.