Sidor som bilder


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Он ye

with Virtue's deathless roses crowned, Yet unseduced by Pleasure's fatal wiles ; Whom ease, whoin affluence, and peace surround,

Who bask, unknown to pain, in Fortune's smiles !

Let not the pride that conscious worth iniparts

Too fiercely triumph o'er Misfortune's child, Whom practised Vice, with toils and oft-tried arts,

Of Innocence and Honour hath beguiled.

Ye who 'midst groves and peaceful shades pursue

The calm and even tenor of your way, Know ye with what fell wiles the Siren crew,

The fiends of pleasure, study to betray?

Oh were their honied treacheries but known!

Not always would their victims meet your scorn; Not always would your swelling hearts disdain

The sigh of pity for a mind forlorn.


And some there are whom now, though sunny skies Gild with unchanging splendour, whom though

flowers Of thornless bliss encompass, while life flies,

In scenes of joy o'er which no tempest lowers,

Yet know they, by some dear escape well taught,

How hard it is to walk the perilous way, With seeming bliss and deadly pleasures fraught,

Where Ruin lurks, close ambushed, for his prey.

Shall these then, all forgetful of the wiles Themselves have learned, yet hardly learned, to

shun, Go forth elate, and turn with scornful smiles

From the poor wretch by villany undone!

If such there are, su lost to generous shame,

If thus with savage pride their bosoms swell, If those who from the fight with danger came

Exult o'er one that in the conflict fell;

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