They made me cold to nature, dead to love.”
He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees
A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease;
He takes no joy in office - see him now,
And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow;
Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess’d,
He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest -
Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the best.
And thus he lives, if living be to sigh,
And from all comforts of the world to fly,