Classic Poem

A THOUSAND griefs o'ercast our fleeting day:
On most Disease and chilling Want attend,
Dim the few joys the Fates in pity send,
And veil in clouds the Sun's all-gladd'ning ray.
With hopeless passion now we pine away;
Now o'er the bier of some departed friend
With swelling heart disconsolate we bend;
Those looks, that voice, which chear'd our anxious way,
Fond Mem'ry paints in all her glowing hues,
From her each hour of social Joy receives
A double charm: yet lull'd by Hope we rest,
Nor shed for ever pale Affliction's dews;
And e'en the fond regret, which Pleasure leaves,
Is not unpleasing to the tender breast.