The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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THE POET'S SICKBED. |
 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
THE POET'S SICKBED.
How little looks the world to him in pain,
Whose whole estate is sorrow's darkest train,
With mind in ruins and his soul o'erthrown,
When friends retire as though they were not known.
Whose whole estate is sorrow's darkest train,
With mind in ruins and his soul o'erthrown,
When friends retire as though they were not known.
How deep the anguish when his genius wastes,
As early, trembling, to the grave he hastes;
With quiv'ring pulse—an appetite destroy'd—
All pleasure fled which once he most enjoy'd.
As early, trembling, to the grave he hastes;
With quiv'ring pulse—an appetite destroy'd—
All pleasure fled which once he most enjoy'd.
344
The stars no pleasure give, no orb on high
Inspires his soul with highest ecstasy;
The vast unfathom'd sea he views no more,
The heavens' beauty in his bosom's o'er.
Inspires his soul with highest ecstasy;
The vast unfathom'd sea he views no more,
The heavens' beauty in his bosom's o'er.
With landscapes, rocks, and hills, he so much lov'd,
His trembling anxious bosom is not mov'd;
His unsubstantial friends, who once were sweet,
The lonely bard now tread beneath their feet.
His trembling anxious bosom is not mov'd;
His unsubstantial friends, who once were sweet,
The lonely bard now tread beneath their feet.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |