Now, all the freshness of the morning fled,
My spirits burden’d, and my heart was dead;
The female servants show’d a child their fear,
And men, full wearied, wanted strength to cheer;
And when, at length, the dreaded storm went past,
And there was peace and quietness at last, 110
’Twas not the morning’s quiet—it was not
Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot;
It was not Joy that now commenced her reign,
But mere relief from wretchedness and Pain.