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Nor do your powers alone bestow

A balm to soften care; To lull the rankling throbs of woe,

Or mitigate despair;

You likewise bring a remedy, Where joys extatic reign,

Where pleasures, turn'd to agony, Oppress the madd'ning brain.

As when of rain, a kindly shower, In summer's parching day,

Disarms the light'ning of its power And cools the sultry ray,

Thus, your refreshing streams avail

The passions to abate : The painful thrills of bliss to heal,

To rob grief of its weight.

Ce qu'on cherche pour £tre heureux est trop souvent precis^ment ce qui empeche de 1' etre.

Fenelon.

Love in my bosom like a bee

Doth suck his sweete; Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with h