No! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule,
Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school,
Have pow'r to sooth, unaided and alone,
The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone!
When stepdame Nature every bliss recals,
Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls;
When, reft of all, yon widow'd sire appears
A lonely hermit in the vale of years;
Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow
To friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe?
No! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, —
Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you!
Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain,
Congenial spirits part to meet again! —