Is thy companion still! Then, exiled Man!
Be chearful as the Lark that o’er yon hill
In Nature’s language, wild, yet musical,
Hails the Creator! nor thus, sullenly
Repine, that, through the day, the sunny beam
Of lust’rous fortune gilds the palace roof,
While thy short path, in this wild labyrinth,
Is lost in transient shadow.
Who, that lives,
Hath not his portion of calamity?