And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.