Because her absence is such cause of grief That her sweet smile alone can yield relief.— Why, then, that smile is Pleasure!—True, yet still ’Tis but the absence of the former ill: For, married, soon at will he comes and goes; } Then pleasures die, and pains become repose, } And he has none of these, and therefore none of those. } Yes! looking back as early as I can, 40} I see the griefs that seize their subject Man; } That in the weeping Child their early reign began. } Yes! though Pain softens, and is absent since, He still controls me like my lawful prince. Joys I remember, like phosphoric light Or squibs and crackers on a gala night. Joys are like oil: if thrown upon the tide Of flowing life, they mix not, nor subside. Griefs are like waters on the river thrown: They mix entirely, and become its own. 50 Of all the good that grew of early date, I can but parts and incidents relate: A guest arriving, or a borrow’d day From school, or schoolboy triumph at some play: And these from Pain may be deduced; for these Removed some ill—and hence their power to please. But it was Misery stung me in the day Death of an infant sister made a prey; For then first met and moved my early fears, A father’s terrors, and a mother’s tears. 60 Though greater anguish I have since endured— Some heal’d in part, some never to be cured: Yet was there something in that first-born ill, So new, so strange, that memory feels it still! _That_ my first grief: but, oh! in after-years Were other deaths, that call’d for other tears. No! that I cannot, that I dare not, paint— } That patient sufferer, that enduring saint, } Holy and lovely—but all words are faint. } But here I dwell not—let me, while I can, 70 Go to the Child, and lose the suffering Man! Sweet was the morning’s breath, the inland tide, } And our boat gliding, where alone could glide } Small craft—and they oft touch’d on either side. } It was my first-born joy. I heard them say, “Let the child go; he will enjoy the day.” For children ever feel delighted when They take their portion, and enjoy with men. Give him the pastime that the old partake, And he will quickly top and taw forsake. 80 The linnet chirp’d upon the furze as well, To my young sense, as sings the nightingale. Without was paradise—because within Was a keen relish, without taint of sin. A town appear’d—and, where an infant went, Could they determine, on themselves intent? I lost my way, and my companions me, And all, their comforts and tranquillity. Mid-day it was, and, as the sun declined, The good, found early, I no more could find 90 The men drank much, to whet the appetite; } And, growing heavy, drank to make them light; } Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite. } Their cheerfulness did but a moment last;