Ponti profundis clausa recessibus,
Strepens procellis, rupibus obsita,
Quam grata defesso virentem
Skia sinum nebulosa pandis.
His cura, credo, sedibus exulat;
His blanda certe pax habitat locis:
Non ira, non moeror quietis
Insidias meditatur horis.
At non cavata rupe latescere,
Menti nec aegrae montibus aviis
Prodest vagari, nec frementes
E scopulo numerare fluctus.
Humana virtus non sibi sufficit,
Datur nec aequum cuique animum sibi
Parare posse, ut Stoicorum
Secta crepet nimis alta fallax.
Exaestuantis pectoris impetum,
Rex summe, solus tu regis arbiter,
Mentisque, te tollente, surgunt,
Te recidunt moderante fluctus[465].
After supper, Dr. Johnson told us, that Isaac Hawkins Browne drank
freely for thirty years, and that he wrote his poem, _De Animi
Immortalitate_, in some of the last of these years[466]. I listened to
this with the eagerness of one who, conscious of being himself fond of
wine, is glad to hear that a man of so much genius and good thinking as
Browne had the same propensity[467].