Iv

Weak Spirits are there--who would ask, Upon the pressure of a painful thing, The lion's sinews, or the eagle's wing; Or let their wishes loose, in forest-glade, Among the lurking powers Of herbs and lowly flowers, Or seek, from saints above, miraculous aid-- That Man may be accomplished for a task Which his own nature hath enjoined;--and why? If, when that interference hath relieved him, He must sink down to languish In worse than former helplessness--and lie Till the caves roar,--and, imbecility Again engendering anguish, The same weak wish returns, that had before deceived him.