With labour worn, at last the helm resigns,
And in deep anguish at her lot repines;
Despair throws round impenetrable gloom,
And Death invites her to the ready tomb.

"Let faithful Memory tell (for Memory can)
How thy first years in even current ran;
How every pleasure, every good, combined
To feast with countless sweets thy tranquil mind:
Each passing joy a kindred joy pursued,
Nor ask'd the aid of sad vicissitude.
Swift flew thy boat, thro' isles with verdure crown'd,
Heaven's smile above, and prosperous seas around:
O'er the smooth waves Hope's cheering zephyr pass'd,
And every wave seem'd smoother than the last.

"Soon fled those halcyon days. The storm began;
From pole to pole the doubling thunder ran.
Yet still with patient toil I saw thee urge
Thy fearless passage o'er the gloomy surge;
Still Faith discern'd the harbour of repose,
And panting Hope look'd forward to the close.

"As vapours, slowly thickening, blot away,
Beam after beam, the sacred orb of day;
So woes on woes in long continuance blind
The sense, and blunt the vigour of the mind;
'Till, by some sudden gust of misery cross'd,
On the mad ocean of despondence toss'd,
Reason herself, once bold, acute, and strong,