Less heavy?—When for me the sun no more
Shall shine on earth, to bless with genial beams
This beauteous race of beings animate—
When bright with flattering hues the coming hours
No longer dance before me—and I hear
No more, regarded friend, thy dulcet verse,
Nor the sad gentle harmony it breathes—
When mute within my breast the inspiring voice
Of youthful poesy, and love, sole light
To this my wandering life—what guerdon then