Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew (While Edwin, wrapt in wonder, listening stood): "Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu, Scorn'd by the wise, and hated by the good! Ye only can engage the servile brood Of Levity and Lust, who all their days, Ashamed of truth and liberty, have woo'd And hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their gaze, Seems to outshine the pomp of Heaven's empyreal blaze 14 "Like them, abandon'd to Ambition's sway, I sought for glory in the paths of guile; And fawn'd and smiled, to plunder and betray, Myself betray'd and plunder'd all the while; So gnaw'd the viper the corroding file; But now with pangs of keen remorse, I rue Those years of trouble and debasement vile. Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue? Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view! 15 "The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care, And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast, Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall share This heart, where peace serenely shines at last. And if for me no treasure be amass'd, And if no future age shall hear my name, I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast, And with more leisure feed this pious flame, Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame. 16 "The end and the reward of toil is rest. Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd, Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease? Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string, The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece, All that art, fortune, enterprise can bring, If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride the bosom wring? 17 "Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and 'scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green, grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrewn, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. 18 "And thither let the village swain repair; And, light of heart, the village maiden gay, To deck with flowers her half-dishevell'd hair, And celebrate the merry morn of May. There let the shepherd's pipe the livelong day Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe; And when mild Evening comes in mantle gray, Let not the blooming band make haste to go; No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know. 19