Seek not, my Lesbia, the sequester'd dale,
Or bear thou to its shades a tranquil heart;
Since rankles most in solitude the smart
Of injur'd charms and talents, when they fail
To meet their due regard;—nor e'en prevail
Where most they wish to please:—Yet, since thy part
Is large in Life's chief blessings, why desert
Sullen the world?—Alas! how many wail
Dire loss of the best comforts Heaven can grant!
While they the bitter tear in secret pour,
Smote by the death of Friends, Disease, or Want,
Slight wrongs if thy self-valuing soul deplore,
Thou but resemblest, in thy lonely haunt,
Narcissus pining on the watry shore.