4.

O Sail, O Bark, O happy Wind, O Lake,
All happy for his sake,
Why cannot 1 too rest
Indifferent, unopprest,
No aching at the breast—

Why not behold a beauteous thing with heedless airy pleasure,

Sleep, sport or speed away like you, untortured by the treasure!—

But I must moan and writhe and languish,
And almost envy in this anguish
The poor fishes, for they die,
But close to him—beneath his eye:—

And death with him to life without, O who its bliss could measure!