The mind not taught to think, no useful store
To fix reflection, dreads the vacant hour.
Turn'd on its self its num'rous wants are seen,
And all the mighty void that lies within
Yet cannot wisdom stamp our joys complete;
'Tis conscious virtue crowns the blest retreat.
Who feels not that, the private path must shun.
And fly to publick view t' escape his own;
In life's gay scenes uneasy thoughts suppress,
And lull each anxious care in dreams of peace.
'Midst foreign objects not employ'd to roam,
Thought, sadly active, still corrodes at home:
A serious moment breaks the false repose,
And guilt in all its naked horror shows.