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Rh

Is not this place secure? The very air Is drunk with joy, and goads my weary ear With the loud peal from every steeple's point, Commixed with human voices: happiness Seems overflowing from the breasts of all. The half-starved beggar in the streets forgets The pangs of hunger, waves his ragged cap Aloft, and shouts, joy! joy! The song and dance Go gaily round; and mocking Heaven's bright stars, Comets and streams of fire ascend from earth. Why, in the general felicity, Am I not also blest? I have no friend To soothe my sorrows; no soft tender breast Whereon to rest my aching head; no smile Greets my approach; no gentle voice essays