Thofe in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the foul with icy hand, And flow-consuming Age. To each his fuff'rings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate? HY M N ΤΟ ADVERSITY, Ζίνα Τὸν φρονῶν βροτοὺς ὁδώ σαντα, τῶ πάθει μαθαν Θέντα κυρίως ἔχειν. ESCHYLUS, in Agamemnone, |