5o ciiit.de iiAnoLn’s pilgrimage.
It is that settled, ceaseless gloomThe fabled Hebrew wanderer bore;
That will not look beyond the tomb,
Cut cannot hope for rest before.
6 .
What Exile from himself can flee ?
To Zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where-e’er I be,
The blight of life — the demon, Thought.
7 *
Tot others rapt in pleasure seem.
And taste of all that I forsake;
Oh! may they still of transport dream,
Aud ne’er, at least like me, awake!
8 .
Through many a clime ’tis mine to go,
AVith many a retrospection curst;
And all my solace is to know,
Whate’er betides, Eye known the worst.
9 -
What is that worst P Nay do not askIn pity from the search forbear:
Smile on — nor venture to unmask