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Such, in the fond delusion of my heart,Such Picture would I at that time have made:And seen the soul of truth in every part;A faith, a trust, that could not be betray'd.
So once it would have been,—'tis so no more;I have submitted to a new controul:A power is gone, which nothing can restore;A deep distress hath human iz'd my Soul.
Not for a moment could I now beholdA smiling sea and be what I have been:The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old;This, which I know, I speak with mind serene.
Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend,If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore,This Work of thine I blame not, but commend;This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.
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