Like one new waken’d, snatches up in haste,
With Grasp insane, Light Joys, fantastic Hopes,
Remnants of Motley Bliss, confus’dly join’d
To woes alternate, sure of something ill,
Where the Good lies beneath——
[SORROW.]
O Sacred Sorrow, by whom Souls are tried,
Sent not to punish Mortals, but to guide:
If Thou art mine (and who shall proudly dare
To tell his Maker, he has had his share?)—