SERIO-COMIC VERSE. 623 



While, with sober step and slow, 

 Bound about the marshes low, 

 Stiffening students stumping go 



Shivering through their flannel. 



Then to me in doleful mood 

 Eises up a question rude, 

 Asking what sufficient good 



Comes of this mode of living ? 

 Moping on from day to day, 

 Grinding up what will not " pay," 

 Till the jaded brain gives way 



Under its own misgiving. 



Why should wretched Man employ 

 Years which Nature meant for joy, 

 Striving vainly to destroy 



Freedom of thought and feeling ? 

 Still the injured powers remain 

 Endless stores of hopeless pain, 

 When at last the vanquished brain 



Languishes past all healing. 



Where is then his wealth of mind 

 All the schemes that Hope designed ? 

 Gone, like spring, to leave behind 



Indolent melancholy. 

 Thus he ends his helpless days, 

 Vex't with thoughts of former praise 

 Tell me, how are Wisdom's ways 



Better than senseless Folly ? 



Happier those whom trifles please, 

 Dreaming out a life of ease, 

 Sinking by unfelt degrees 



Into annihilation. 

 Or the slave, to labour born, 

 Heedless of the freeman's scorn, 

 Destined to be slowly worn 



Down to the brute creation. 



