410
For well she knows what faithful hints within
Were whisper'd, to beware the lying forms
Which turn'd her footsteps from the safer way,
What cautions to suspect their painted dress,
And look with steady eyelid on their smiles,
Their frowns, their tears. In vain; the dazzling hues
Of Fancy, and Opinion's eager voice,
Too much prevail'd. For mortals tread the path
In which Opinion says they follow good
Or fly from evil; and Opinion gives 420
Report of good or evil, as the scene
Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform'd;
Thus her report can never there be true
Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye
With glaring colours and distorted lines.
Is there a man to whom the name of death
Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjured up
Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows,
And the frail soul plunged headlong from the brink
Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 430
An unknown depth, to gulfs of torturing fire
Unvisited by mercy? Then what hand
Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils
Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire
To twine around his heart? Or who shall hush
Their clamour, when they tell him that to die,
To risk those horrors, is a direr curse
Than basest life can bring? Though Love with prayers
Most tender, with affliction's sacred tears,
Beseech his aid; though Gratitude and Faith 440
Condemn each step which loiters; yet let none
Make answer for him that if any frown
Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay
Content, and be a wretch to be secure.
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