They talk of short-lived pleasure—be it so-- Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured painExpires, and lets her weary prisoner go. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign; And after dreams of horror, comes againThe welcome morning with its rays of peace; Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease:Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase Are fruits of innocence and blessedness:Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round him press.Weep not that the world changes—did it keepA stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
NOVEMBER.