A thousand years of struggles with a storm
Than bask one hour, subdued by sunshine warm,
To bright and breezeless rest; yet even his height
Towers not o'er this world's sympathies, he smiles—
While many a human heart to pleasures' wiles
Can bear to bend, and still forget to rise—
As though he, huge and heath-clad, on our sight,
Again rejoices in his stormy skies.
Man loses vigour in unstable joys.
Thus tempests find Black Comb invincible,