ev'he wished end's denied,
yet while the busy means are plied,
they bring their own reward:
whilst i, a hope-abandon'd wight,
unfitted with an aim,
meet ev'ry sad returning night,
and joyless morn the same!
you, bustling, and justling,
fet each grief and pain;
i, listless, yet restless,
find ev'ry prospect vain.
how blest the solitary's lot,
who, all-fetting, all fot,
within his humble cell,
the cavern, wild with tangling roots,
sits o'er his newly gather'd fruits,
beside his crystal well!
or ha
Despondency: An Ode(2/4)