What ought I to forego? Ought I that impulse to obey? Alas! our every deed,
as well as every woe, Impedes the tenor of life's onward way!
E'en to the noblest by the soul conceiv'd, Some feelings cling of baser quality;
And when the goods of this world are achiev'd, Each nobler aim is termed a
cheat, a lie. Our aspirations, our soul's genuine life, Grow torpid in the din of
earthly strife. Though youthful phantasy, while hope inspires, Stretch o'er the
infinite her wing sublime, A narrow compass limits her desires, When wreck'd
our fortunes in the gulf of time. In the deep heart of man care builds her nest,