And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.
Seas wept from our deep sorrows.
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.
That power Which erring men call Chance.
Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High over-arch'd imbower.