"Sorrow, cruel fellowship," from which he cannot disengage himself, now
reigns within him, and distorts with "lying lip"[7] all Nature and her
beneficent workings; making these seem to have no purpose or end. All
which is but an echo of his own dark feelings. Shall he then believe this
false guide--
"Embrace her as my natural good;
Or crush her, like a vice of blood,
Upon the threshold of the mind?"
reject, and turn away from the impostures of a sorrowing imagination?