Have burst their bounds, and reason, half extinct,
Or impotent, or else approving, sees
The foul disorder. Senseless and deform'd
Convulsive anger storms at large; or pale
And silent, settles into fell revenge.
Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full,
Weak and unmanly, loosens ev'ry power.
Even love itself is bitterness of soul;
A pensive anguish pining at the heart,
Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no more
That noble wish, that never cloy'd desire,
Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone
To bless the dearer object of its flame.
Hope sickens with extravagance; and grief,
Of life impatient, into madness swells,
Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours.
These, and a thousand mixed emotions more,
From ever changing views of good and ill,
Fomi'd infinitely various, vex the mind
With endless storm; whence, deeply rankling, grows
The partial thought, a listless unconcern,
Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good;
Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles,
Coward deceit, and ruffian violence,
At last, extinct each social feeling, fell
And joyless inhumanity pervades
And petrifies the heart. Nature dilturbed
It deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her course.
Thomson.
