Pity swells the tide of love.
Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.
One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.
'T is impious in a good man to be sad.
We nothing know, but what is marvellous; Yet what is marvellous, we can't believe.
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.