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Which but endures while tyrant man does sleep:
When a sedate content the spirit feels,
And no fierce light disturbs whilst it reveals;
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something too high for syllables to speak;
'Till the free soul to a compos'edness charm'd.
Finding the elements of rage disarmed, 40
O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,
Joys in the inferior world, and thinks it like her own:—
In such a night let me abroad remain.
Till morning breaks and all 's confus'd again;
Our cares, our toils, our clamours are renewed,
Our pleasures, seldom reach'd, again pursued.
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