Sost God of Sleep, whose ever-peaceful reign
Lulls earth, and heaven, and all the extended main,
Powerful to give the labouring heart to rest,
To wipe the tear, and heal the wounded breast,
Say, by what crime offended, slies from me,
Invok'd, thy unpropitious Deity?
Or dooms, on racks of wildest Fancy torn,
In dreams my agonizing soul to mourn?
Why am I oft on angry billows tost,
Now in some wide and dreary desart lost?
Why yet in life infernal tortures feel,
Bound by fierce demons to some rapid wheel?
Now seem to climb, while hills on hills arife,
In vain: or fall in tempests from the skies,
Tread burning plains, or swim in seas of fire,
Just reach the shore, then see the shore retire?
As oft, dear youth! thy pleasing form appears;
I stretch my arms, and wake dissolv'd in tears;
Yet waking Fancy all that loss supplies,
And still I view thee with a lover's eyes;
Entranc'd, in thought, o'er all thy charms I gaze,
See thy bright eyes diffuse their softest rays,
Hang on thy hand, and on thy breast reclin'd,
Play with thy locks that waver with the wind,
Joy in thy joy, or in thy sorrows join,
And on thy lips my spirit mix with thine.
Now o'er dark wilds, or rugged rocks we stray,
Love lights the gloom, and smooths the dreary way;
Now on soft banks our weary limbs repose,
Where every flower of vernal beauty glows;
But light as air each pleasing vision flew,
Swift as the fun dispels the morning dew;
While with the day returns the sense of woe,
We wake more wretched when the cheat we know.