Burned at his heart, which only found
Relief in deeds of sin.
“What is thy name?” a traveller cried—
As he the old man met.
“’Tis Trouble”—thus the seer replied—
“Canst thou my form forget?
“No pilgrim on life’s rugged road
Can fail to feel my wrath;
On every back I lay a load—
Strew thorns in every path.