O’er every Tree and Shrub presides,
And Breathes her Animation round.
Languid I came, as One who feels
Oppressed by long and slow Disease, 10
Which neither Time nor Medicine heals,
When Hope and Fancy fail to please.
“When shall these clouded Spirits rise,
And all their Native Force impart?
When shall gay Objects greet the Eyes,
And a light Spirit fill the Heart?”