Sickness and sorrow hovering round my bed,
Who now with anxious haste shall bring relief,
With lenient hand support my drooping head,
Asswage my pains, and mitigate my grief?
Should worldly business call away,
Who now shall in my absence fondly mourn,
Count every minute of the loitering day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my bosom discompose,
Who now with sweet complacent air,
Shall smooth the rugged brow of Care,
And soften all my woes?
Too faithful Memory — Cease, O cease —
How shall I e'er regain my peace?
(O to forget her) — but how vain each art,
Whilst every virtue lives imprinted on my heart.