I.

Pensive at eve on the _hard_ world I mus'd, And _my poor_ heart was sad: so at the Moon I gaz'd--and sigh'd, and sigh'd!--for, ah! how soon Eve darkens into night. Mine eye perus'd With tearful vacancy the _dampy_ grass Which wept and glitter'd in the _paly_ ray; And _I did pause me_ on my lonely way, And _mused me_ on those _wretched ones_ who pass _O'er the black heath_ of Sorrow. But, alas! Most of _Myself_ I thought: when it befell That the _sooth_ Spirit of the breezy wood Breath'd in mine ear--'All this is very well; But much of _one_ thing is for _no_ thing good.' Ah! my _poor heart's_ INEXPLICABLE SWELL!