"Sure there's a pleasure in recounting woes!
And some relief in every tear that flows!
Else why call back those days for ever flown,
And with them every joy this heart can own?
Pleasure and pain is the sad mixture still,
Taste but the good, and you must taste the ill;
Dear Recollection is a sorceress fair
That brings up pleasures livelier than they were;
Delighted Fancy dwells upon the view,
Compares old scenes with what she meets with new;
The present hour grows dull, her charms decay,
And, one by one, drop silently away.
Neglect succeeds — Neglect, the worst of foes,
That married love or single friendship knows,
Whose torpid soul congeal'd in stupor lies,
Nor sees one charm, nor hears the smothering sighs;
Sees not the hourly load of comforts brought
By fond affection, watching every thought,
Nor the heart beating with the wish to please, —
Cold, cold Neglect, nor hears, nor feels, nor sees!