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Happiness: An Ode. ----¯---I. Oft have I heard it said in pitying tones Or words of wild dismay, That mMan’s short day Is only a long night, Unlit by fickle Pleasure’s glimmering light, Unbroken save by Sorrow’s broken moans – For Man, ‘tis said is but the slave of Care, That hard task-master, who doth ne’er Lift from his weary back the heavy load; While close beside him stands Grim-eyed Despair, And Jealousy whose eyes for ever keep A secret watch, e’en while they seem to sleep; And Trouble with her hundred hands That never rest; And thousand ills and miseries beside, And gaunt Disease that gnaws the breast; All these from far and wide Toss Man from one to other like a ball,