Whose ’wildered eye no object meets, 5
Nor cares to ken a friendly glance,
With silent grief his bosom beats,—­
Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance.

Who looks around with fearful eye,
And shuns all converse with man kind, 10
As though some one his griefs might spy,
And soothe them with a kindred mind.

A friend or foe to him the same,
He looks on each with equal eye;
The difference lies but in the name, 15
To none for comfort can he fly.—­

’Twas deep despair, and sorrow’s trace,
To him too keenly given,
Whose memory, time could not efface—­
His peace was lodged in Heaven.—­ 20

He looks on all this world bestows,
The pride and pomp of power,
As trifles best for pageant shows
Which vanish in an hour.

When torn is dear affection’s tie, 25
Sinks the soft heart full low;
It leaves without a parting sigh,
All that these realms bestow.

JUNE, 1810.

6.  SONG.

SORROW.

To me this world’s a dreary blank,
All hopes in life are gone and fled,
My high strung energies are sank,
And all my blissful hopes lie dead.—­

The world once smiling to my view, 5
Showed scenes of endless bliss and joy;
The world I then but little knew,
Ah! little knew how pleasures cloy;

All then was jocund, all was gay,
No thought beyond the present hour, 10
I danced in pleasure’s fading ray,
Fading alas! as drooping flower.

Nor do the heedless in the throng,
One thought beyond the morrow give[,]
They court the feast, the dance, the song, 15
Nor think how short their time to live.

The heart that bears deep sorrow’s trace,
What earthly comfort can console,
It drags a dull and lengthened pace,
’Till friendly death its woes enroll.—­ 20

The sunken cheek, the humid eyes,
E’en better than the tongue can tell;
In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies,
Where memory’s rankling traces dwell.—­

The rising tear, the stifled sigh, 25
A mind but ill at ease display,
Like blackening clouds in stormy sky,
Where fiercely vivid lightnings play.

Thus when souls’ energy is dead,
When sorrow dims each earthly view, 30
When every fairy hope is fled,
We bid ungrateful world adieu.

AUGUST, 1810.

7.  SONG.

HOPE.

And said I that all hope was fled,
That sorrow and despair were mine,
That each enthusiast wish was dead,
Had sank beneath pale Misery’s shrine.—­