When pleasure departs, what a blank there remains.
How dreary each object around us appears!
While the soul, sick of life, from each object refrains,
And in solitude longs to indulge in vain tears.

If the eye of compassion has ceased to look kind,
If the voice which delighted, no longer is heard;
If sorrows unuttered oppress the sad mind,
And the labouring breast by no comfort is cheer'd.

When 'tis past, & the moment of pleasure is o'er,
When to joys that are gone the sad mourner returns,
While memory faithful still guards in her store,
The hopes he has lost, & the friend whom he mourns.

Oh! bear him to scenes, where rude Nature appears,
Let solitude sooth him, & pensive repose,
No eye to restrain the sweet freedom of tears,
No ear to forbid the expression of woes.

Near woods, interrupted by white jutting rocks
Oh place him beside some river's dark course,
Where the torrents impetuous gush thro' brown oaks,
And steep groves reecho their murmurings hoarse.

In a glen deep sequestered, surrounded by woods,
By mountains o'ertopped, inaccessibly high,
Let him view the swell'd stream's irresistible floods,
Unappall'd by the tempest which roars thro' the sky.

Oh! there let him wander thro' underwoods dark,
Unmolested by man, by no comforter teiz'd;
No stranger unfeeling his sorrows to mark,
And unheard be the groans which his bosom have eas'd —

When Nature deplores her lost beauty & pride,
Her drear lamentations more soothing shall sound,
The voice of complaint to his heart is allied,
And in desolate scenes, is sad sympathy found.

Let Fancy to May's rosy bosom retire,
And quit the sad season, & shun the sad heart,
In the soft vacant breast, let her passion inspire
And double each pleasure by magical art. —

For treacherous power! while seeming to cheer,
To sooth his distress, & to soften his woes;
The scenes thou recallest, but rouse the sad tear,
And thy warm glowing pictures destroy his repose.

In the regions of sorrow thy lustre is vain,
It there on no exquisite prospects can shine,
Oh! add not to anguish, nor magnify pain,
But the wretched to wisdom & reason resign.

Thy aid he requests not; he asks not relief,
From the cruel assistance which thou canst impart,
The image of joy but awakens his grief,
Of joy, which no longer inhabits his heart.

But thou, cheering Hope! sweet peace breathing guest,
Assure him, bright joy on his days soon shall shine,
Dispel this sad gloom, & revisit his breast,
And whisper, soft pleasure again shall be thine. —

'Tis thou canst pour balm on his anguish alone,
Though nought can restore, yet thou canst relieve,
For his losses compensate, his sorrows atone,
And teach him with calm resignation to grieve. —