I too ready

    In this fair world of Gods. had we no hope

    Indeed beyond the slope

    Of yon gray blank of sky, we mig

    to muse upon eternitys constraint

    Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope

    Must  o droop,

    For a feaint ?

    O pusillanimous , be comforted

    And, like a craveller, take the road

    Singing beside t if the bread

    Be bitter in thou unshod

    to meet ts ? At least it may be said

    Because t, I thee, God.