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    Still dost without remorse
    Pursue thy cruel course,
And the consuming sufferer thus destroy;—
    Those pangs yet more malign,
    With griefs and woes combine;
Where once thou fostered'st happiness and joy?

    In solitude's sweet hours,
    Spent in the woodland bowers,
Ere yet dismantled of thy halcyon charm,
    Much wast thou loved, before
    Infantile days were o'er,
When thou could'st solace, and each grief disarm.

    Then thy abstracted joy
    Thrilled deep, without alloy,
And bound the opening mind affectionate to thee,
    With pleasure childhood beamed,
    When Thought benignant seemed,
And in the yielding heart wrote soft serenity.

    But now those days are o'er,
    And thou canst charm no more;
Now o'er dread Misery's train thou reign'st supreme,
    And mark'st each waking hour
    With thy distracting power;
And bid'st chill Horror ape thee in a dream.