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Nor do your powers alone bestow
A balm to soften care; To lull the rankling throbs of woe,
Or mitigate despair;
You likewise bring a remedy, Where joys extatic reign,
Where pleasures, turn'd to agony, Oppress the madd'ning brain.
As when of rain, a kindly shower, In summer's parching day,
Disarms the light'ning of its power And cools the sultry ray,
Thus, your refreshing streams avail
The passions to abate : The painful thrills of bliss to heal,
To rob grief of its weight.
Ce qu'on cherche pour £tre heureux est trop souvent precis^ment ce qui empeche de 1' etre.
Fenelon.
Love in my bosom like a bee
Doth suck his sweete; Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with h
