I too ready
In this fair world of Gods. had we no hope
Indeed beyond the slope
Of yon gray blank of sky, we mig
to muse upon eternitys constraint
Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope
Must o droop,
For a feaint ?
O pusillanimous , be comforted
And, like a craveller, take the road
Singing beside t if the bread
Be bitter in thou unshod
to meet ts ? At least it may be said
Because t, I thee, God.