Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
What female heart can gold despise? What cat 's averse to fish?
Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?