But not for fancy’s ills; - he never grieves
For love that wounds or friendship that deceives.
His patient soul endures what Heav’n ordains,
But neither feels nor fears ideal pains.
“Is aught then wanted in a man so wise?” -
Alas! - I think he wants infirmities;
He wants the ties that knit us to our kind -
The cheerful, tender, soft, complacent mind.
That would the feelings, which he dreads, excite,
And make the virtues he approves delight;