despondency: an ode

  oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,

  a burden more than i can bear,

  i set me down and sigh;

  o life! thou art a galling load,

  along a rough, a weary road,

  to wretches such as i!

  dim backward as i cast my view,

  what sick'ning scenes appear!

  what sorrows yet may pierce me through,

  too justly i may fear!

  still caring, despairing,

  must be my bitter doom;

  my woes here shall close ne'er

  but with the closing tomb!

  happy! ye sons of busy life,

  who, equal to the bustling strife,

  no other view regard!

  ev'n when the wished end's denied,

  yet while the busy means are plied,

  they bring their own reward:

  whilst i, a hope-abandon'd wight,

  unfitted with an aim,

  meet ev'ry sad returning night,

  and joyless morn the same!

  you, bustling, and justling,

  forget each grief and pain;

  i, listless, yet restless,

  find ev'ry prospect vain.

  how blest the solitary's lot,

  who, all-forgetting, all forgot,

  within his humble cell,

  the cavern, wild with tangling roots,

  sits o'er his newly gather'd fruits,

  beside his crystal well!