Alas! we fly to silent scenes in vain;
Care blasts the honours of the flow'ry plain:
Care veils in clouds the sun's meridian beam,
10
Sighs through the grove and murmurs in the stream.
For, when the soul is labouring in despair,
In vain the body breathes a purer air:
No storm-toss'd sailor sighs for slumbering seas—
He dreads the tempest, but invokes the breeze;
}