Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/192

Rh

Yet who shall say they are not happiest, these, Whose dull soul never quickens with a pang, Who never know the dear divine unrest, The stirring of a worthy discontent, Fretted by no such fever as attends The sprouting of the vans celestial Which wither'd from us when to earth we fell! The clods' indifference to a wooing star, Is theirs, and crass contentment of the clod.

(To the By-standers.)

But shun you Beauty as a very bane Which like the sea in equinoctial might May break the dyke that guards your sluggish lives, Sweeping unwonted currents on your calm, Ruinous, overwhelming