Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep;
Babes, children, youths and men,
Night following night, for three-score years and ten.[85]
And in my early manhood, in lines descriptive of a gloomy solitude, I disguised my own sensations in the following words:
Here wisdom might abide, and here remorse!
Here too, the woe-worn man, who weak in soul,
And of this busy human heart aweary,
Worships the spirit of unconscious life,
In tree, or wild-flower. Gentle lunatic!
If so he might not wholly cease to be,