Roll on, thou shallow stream of Pleasure!—roll!
Ten thousand skiffs float over thee in vain,
Prows prone to rapids, helms beyond control;
Awhile they dance upon thy watery plain,
Then fleet to wreck, and nothing doth remain
Save a sad memory of the bitter groan
When one more struggler, slackening the fierce strain,
Sinks wave-choked, weed-encumbered, stark, alone,
Gone to the dogs, unstayed, unfriended, and unknown.