If Pegasus will let thee only ride him, Spurning my clumsy efforts to o'erstride him, Some fresh expedient the Muse will try, And walk on stilts, although she cannot fly.
Of late, in one of those most weary hours, When life seems emptied of all genial powers, A dready mood, which he who ne'er has known May bless his happy lot, I sate alone;...
A bless'd lot hath he, who having passed His youth and early manhood in the stir And turmoil of the world, retreats at length, With cares that move, not agitate the heart,...