Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?Ĭling to his couch, and sicken years away: Save that it seems even duller than repose:Ĭome when it will - we snatch the life of life. No dread of death if with us die our foes. That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,Īnd where the feebler faint can only feel -įeel - to the rising bosom's inmost core, That for itself can woo the approaching fight,Īnd turn what some deem danger to delight That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way? The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play, Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,Īnd danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, Whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please. Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease! Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! Ours the wild life in tumult still to rangeįrom toil to rest, and joy in every change. These are our realms, no limits to their sway. Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as freeįar as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
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