LIGHTEN, heavy heart, thy sprite, The joys recall that thence are fled; Yield thy breast some living light; The man that nothing doth is dead. Tune thy temper to these sounds, And quicken so thy joyless mind; Sloth the worst and best confounds: It is the ruin of mankind. From her cave rise all distastes, Which unresolved Despair pursues; Whom soon after, Violence hastes, Herself, ungrateful, to abuse. Skies are cleared with stirring winds, Th' unmoved water moorish grows; Every eye much pleasure finds To view a stream that brightly flows. |