Know’st thou not Harmony’s resistless charm
Can soothe each passion, and each grief disarm?
Sing then, and tears will vanish from thine eye.”
With sighs I answer’d,—“When the cup of woe
Is fill’d, till misery’s bitter draught o’erflow,
The mourner’s cure is not to sing—but die.”
PART OF ECLOGUE 15.
“Se lá no assento da maior alteza.”
If in thy glorious home above
Thou still recallest earthly love,