ALAS, poor Werter! to himself a prey, The heart's excessive workings could not bear; But sought his native heaven the nearest way, And fled from grief, from anguish, and despair. The joys of prejudice he scorned to own, He pitied pride, and avarice, and power; But oft on some rude rock at random thrown, He welcomed midnight's melancholy hour. To view the moon's pale glimpse illume the wave, To list the sweeping blasts that sadly blow; Down the rough steep, to hear the cat'racts rave; Such were the pleasures of this man of woe. An isolated being here he stood, His strong sensations with how few could blend! The wise, the great, the gay, perhaps the good, They knew him not—they could not comprehend. Charlotte alone, by nature was designed To fill the vacuum of his generous breast; He loved her beauty, he admired her mind; He lost that Charlotte, and he sought for rest! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: SPRING by EDITH SITWELL WE WEAR THE MASK by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR EPICOENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN: FREEDOM IN DRESS by BEN JONSON TO HIS GRACE, GEORGE DUKE OF NORTHUMBERLAND by PHILIP AYRES SHANAHAN'S OULD QUEEN by GERALD BRENNAN ON BEAU NASH'S PICTURE AT BATH by JANE (HUGHES) BRERETON |