To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
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?
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.