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I?IVOTIO?AL. 291 With what joy doe? he. gre?t. the., his Sadour, hi? Str?gth, With what perfect composure he ?aks on thy breast! His warfare is closed for the day's weur?y length, He is one day more near to his haven of rest. COMPOSED ON TRIg SIgA-SHORIg. WItIL? here aloug the shore I wind, And view the ocean roll, Too true an emblem I can find Of my perturbed soul; For tho', sometimes, when storms are spent, More calmly heaves it's breast, 'Tis still the same wild element, It ne'er can wholly rest. Ev'n joy, as transientsun-beams pass O'er broken waves below, Still finds me trembling, and, alas, Too often leaves me so *. ......... ?Google
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