These the part
Perform of eager monitors, and goad
The soul more sharply than with points of steel,
Her enemies to shun or to resist.
And as those passions, that converse with good,
Are good themselves; as Hope and Love and Joy,
Among the fairest and the sweetest boons
Of life, we rightly count: so these, which guard
Against invading evil, still excite
Some pain, some tumult; these, within the mind 590
Too oft admitted or too long retain'd,
Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb'd rage
To savages more fell than Libya breeds
Transform themselves, till human thought becomes
A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd,
Of self-tormenting fiends; Horror, Despair,
Hatred, and wicked Envy: foes to all
The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven.
But when through blameless paths to righteous ends
Those keener passions urge the awaken'd soul, 600
I would not, as ungracious violence,
Their sway describe, nor from their free career
The fellowship of Pleasure quite exclude.
For what can render, to the self-approved,
Their temper void of comfort, though in pain?
Who knows not with what majesty divine
The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind
Appear, ennobling oft the sharpest woe
With triumph and rejoicing? Who, that bears
A human bosom, hath not often felt 610
How dear are all those ties which bind our race
In gentleness together, and how sweet
Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while
Be kind or cruel? Ask the faithful youth,
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved
So often fills his arms; so often draws
His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?
Oh! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 620
Those sacred hours when, stealing from the noise
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes
With Virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,
And turns his tears to rapture.
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