"Fruits immature those lands dispense, A food indelicate to sense, Of taste unpleasant, yet from those Pure HEALTH, with cheerful VIGOUR flows; And strength unfeeling of decay, Throughout the long laborious way. "Hence, as they scale that heav'nly road, Each limb is lighten'd of its load: From earth refining still they go, And leave the mortal weight below; Then spreads the strait, the doubtful clears, And smooth the rugged path appears; For custom turns fatigue to ease, And, taught by VIRTUE, PAIN can please. "At length, the toilsome journey o'er, And near the bright celestial shore, A gulf, black, fearful, and profound, Appears, of either world the bound. Thro' darkness, leading up to light, Sense backward shrinks, and shuns the sight; For there the transitory train, Of time, and form, and care, and pain, And matter's gross incumb'ring mass, Man's late associates, cannot pass, But sinking, quit th' immortal charge, And leave the wond'ring soul at large; Lightly she wings her obvious way, And mingles with eternal day. "Thither, O thither, wing thy speed, Tho' PLEASURE charm, or PAIN impede; To such th' all-bounteous pow'r has giv'n, For present earth, a future heav'n; For trivial loss, unmeasur'd gain, And endless bliss, for transient pain. Then fear, ah! fear, to turn thy sight, Where yonder flow'ry fields invite; Wide on the left the path-way bends, And with pernicious ease descends; There, sweet to sense, and fair to show, New-planted EDEN seems to blow; Trees that delicious poison bear, For DEATH is vegetable there. "Hence is the frame of health unbrac'd, Each sinew slack'ning at the taste; The soul to passion yields her throne, And sees with organs not her own; While, like the slumb'rer in the night, Pleas'd with the shadowy dream of light, Before her alienated eyes The scenes of fairy-land arise; The puppet-world's amusing show, Dipt in the gaily colour'd bow; Sceptres, and wreaths, and glitt'ring things, The toys of infants and of kings, That tempt along the baneful plain, The idly wise, and lightly vain; Till verging on the gully shore, Sudden they sink, to rise no more. "But list to what thy FATES declare, Tho' thou art WOMAN, frail as fair, If once thy sliding foot should stray, Once quit yon heav'n-appointed way, For thee, lost maid, for thee alone, Nor pray'rs shall plead, nor tears atone; Reproach, scorn, infamy, and hate, On thy returning steps shall wait.-- Thy form be loath'd by ev'ry eye, And ev'ry foot thy presence fly." Thus arm'd with words of potent sound, Like guardian-angels plac'd around; A charm, by truth divinely cast, Forward our young advent'rer pass'd. Forth from her sacred eye-lids sent, Like morn, fore-running, radiance went, While HONOUR, hand-maid, late assign'd, Upheld her lucid train behind.