"AS the cold aspect of a sunless way Strikes through the Traveller's frame with deadlier chill, Oft as appears a grove, or obvious hill, Glistening with unparticipated ray, Or shining slope where he must never stray; So joys, remembered without wish or will Sharpen the keenest edge of present ill, -- On the crushed heart a heavier burthen lay. Just Heaven, contract the compass of my mind To fit proportion with my altered state! Quench those felicities whose light I find Reflected in my bosom all too late! -- O be my spirit, like my thraldom, strait; And, like mine eyes that stream with sorrow, blind!" |