XXXV.
ON THE PILLOW OF THE WRETCHED.
Weary of life, in mind deprest,
The eyelids droop but crave in vain;
The thinking part denies them rest,
For it must cling to pain.
The griefs of old as waters come
That gather in a brook;
The thinking part has there no home,
By every ripple shook.
How like a dream! and yet no sleep
Assigns to it a resting-place;
It has a course that it must keep:
The pillow shares the race.
EPODE.
The wide affections which a world assail,
Not man's vocation be it to bewail!
Weep for a sister, for a brother grieve,
A child bemoan, for time is a reprieve.
Regret a neighbour even as a friend,
In silence mourn a parent to the end.
Lament a benefactor, oft deplore
The early friend whom thou canst see no more.
But, though the losses quickly may betide,
Be prompt the mental conflict to decide.
Divert the thoughts into a lively strain;
To dwell too long on trouble turns the brain.
