Of sunshine and repose?
Her. I know thy griefs;
But there are trials for the noble heart,
Wherein its own deep fountains must supply
All it can hope of comfort. Pity’s voice
Comes with vain sweetness to th’ unheeding ear
Of anguish, e’en as music heard afar
On the green shore, by him who perishes
Midst rocks and eddying waters.
Elm. Think thou not