Of wearied passions still and tame.—
“Alas!” I cried, when years had flown—
“Must no awakening joy be known?
Must never Hope’s inspiring breeze
Sweep off this dull and torpid ease— 50
Must never Love’s all-cheering ray
Upon the frozen fancy play—
Unless they seize the passive soul,
And with resistless power control?
Then let me all their force sustain,