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Dim Coasts, and cloud-like Hills, and shoreless Ocean—
It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought,
Had built him there a Temple: the whole World
Seem'd imag'd in its vast circumference.
No wish prophan'd my overwhelmed Heart.
Blest hour! It was a Luxury,—to be!
Ah! quiet dell! dear cot! and mount sublime!
I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right,
While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled,
That I should dream away th' entrusted hours
On rose-leaf Beds, pampering the coward Heart
With feelings all too delicate for use?
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye
Drops on the cheek of One, he lifts from Earth:
And He, that works me good with unmov'd face,
Does it but half: he chills me while he aids,
My Benefactor, not my Brother Man!
Yet even this, this cold Beneficence
Praise, praise it, O my soul! oft as thou scann'st,[errata 1]
The Sluggard Pity's vision-weaving Tribe!
Who sigh for Wretchedness, yet shun the Wretched,
Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty Sympathies!
Errata
