Grief

But know, young prince, that valor soars above What the world calls misfortune and affliction; These are not ills, else they would never fall On heaven's first fav'rites, and the best of men. Heaven in bounty works up storms about us, That give mankind occasion to exert Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice Virtues that shun the day, and lie conceal'd In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.

Let us not, Lucia, aggravate our sorrows, But to kind heav'n permit th' event of things: Our lives discolor'd with the present woes, May still grow bright and smile with happier hours. So the pure limpid stream, when foul with stains Of rushing torrents, and descending rains, Works itself clear, and as it runs refines, Till by degrees the floating mirror shines; Reflects each flower that on the border grows, And a new heav'n in its fair bosom shows.