Then, what provoking indigence in wealth!
What aggravated impotence in power!
High titles, then, what insult of their pain!
If that sole anchor, equal to the waves,
Immortal Hope! defies not the rude storm,
Takes comfort from the foaming billow’s rage, 230
And makes a welcome harbour of the tomb.
Is this a sketch of what thy soul admires?
“But here (thou say’st) the miseries of life
Are huddled in a group. A more distinct