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Who, on the eve of bleak December's night, Divided far from all he fondly loves, Journeys alone, along the giddy height Of these steep cliffs, and as the sun's last ray Fades in the west, sees, from the rocky verge, Dark tempest scowling o'er the shorten'd day, And hears, with ear appal'd, the impetuous surge Beneath him thunder! So, with hear oppress'd, Alone, reluctant, desolate, and slow, By Friendship's cheering radiance now unblest, Along Life's rudest path I seem to go; Nor see where yet the anxious heart may rest, That trembling at the past recoils from future woe. |
