By Prometheus were brought hither to comfort mankind;
But what in heaven was light, to human creatures was heavy:—
Slumber became our Sleep, Sleep unto mortals was Death.
V
Oh, the beautiful child! and oh, the most happy mother!
She in her infant blessed, and in its mother the babe—
What sweet longing within me this picture might not occasion,
Were I not, Joseph, like you, calmly condemned to stand by!
VI
Diogenes by his tub, contenting himself with the sunshine,