Sprang in thee, I had help’d thee still.
With breaking back, and feet way-worn,
Lightly and swift I had thee borne;—
But help is idle for the man
Who nothing wills but what he can.
[Goes further on.]
Ah life! ah life! Why art thou then
So passing sweet to mortal men?
In every weakling’s estimation
His own life does as grossly weigh