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Poem	I wish I was by that dim Lake, Where sinful souls their farewell take Of this vain world, and half-way lie In death's cold shadow, ere they die. There, there, far from thee, Deceitful world, my home should be; Where, come what might of gloom and pain, False hope should n'er deceive again. The lifeless sky, the mournful sound Of unseen waters falling round; The dry leaves, quivering o'er my head, Like man, unquiet even when dead! These, ay, these shall wean My soul from life's deluding scene, And turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom Like willows, downward towards the tomb. As they, who to their couch at night Would win repose, first quench the light, So must the hopes, that keep this breast Awake, be quench'd, ere it can rest. Cold, cold, this heart must grow, Unmmoved by either joy or woe, Like freezing founts, where all that's thrown Within their current turns to stone.
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