And bids his bosom sympathize with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find

That bliss which only centres in the mind.

Why have I stray’d from pleasure and repose,

To seek a good each government bestows?

In every government, though terrors reign,

Though tyrant-kings or tyrant-laws restrain,

How small, of all that human hearts endure,

That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!

Still to ourselves in every place consign’d,

Our own felicity we make or find:

28

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy;

The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,

Zeck’s iron crown, and Damiens’ bed of steel,4

To men remote from power but rarely known—

known—

Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own.

FOOTNOTES:

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