Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/388

 sickness clouds the languid eye, And seeds of sharp diseases fly Swift through the vital frame; Rich drugs are torn from earth and sea, And balsam drops from every tree, To quench the parching flame. But oh! what opiate can assuage The throbbing breast's tumultuous rage, Which mingling passions tear! What art the wounds of grief can bind, Or soothe the sick impatient mind Beneath corroding care!