They only babble who practise not reflection
Nothing in Nature, much less conscious being, Was e'er created solely for itself.
The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast.
But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.