Nor ye, gay glittering tribe! who oft-times drink
Of Circe's poison'd cup, and down the stream
Of soothing pleasure all resistless flow
Enervate, deem unworthy of your wish
The charms of Virtue. While ye restless seek
The phantom Pleasure, where Indulgence plays
Her midnight gambols, o'er unstable paths
Ye heedless wander: as she points the way
Thro' her enchanting maze, th' illusive form
Conceals Destruction. While, with eager hope,
And mad Impatience, in a fond embrace
Ye grasp her panting, lo! the sorceress darts
Her latent venom thro' your tortur'd nerves.
Then wakes Remorse; and, see! on yonder throne,
With woes surrounded, fell Disease displays
Her snaky crest, and o'er your guilty heads
Shakes all her horrors: Anguish, downcast Shame,
Succeed, and on the discontented brow
Satiety sits pale. The feeble knee,
Each nerve unbrac'd, beneath the fabric bends!
The tott'ring fabric falls! the shades of death
Now quench those orbs, that beam'd impure desire!
And, deeper yet, the gloom of black despair —
A darkness to be felt! — involves the soul!
O, dread this complicated curse! and turn,
With holy horror, from the paths of Vice!