But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

Rich with the spoils of time.

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.

If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.