LI.

'What dire necessities, on every hand, 'Our art, our strength, our fortitude, require! 'Of foes intestine, what a numerous band 'Against this little throb of life conspire! 'Yet Science can elude their fatal ire 'Awhile, and turn aside Death's levelled dart, 'Sooth the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire, 'And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart, 'And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.