What though her throne irradiate many a clime, If hung loose-tottering o'er the unfathom'd tomb? What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime, Display the imperial wreath and glittering plume? 100 Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave? What note of triumph can her clarion breathe, To alarm the eternal midnight of the grave? 101 That night draws on: nor will the vacant hour Of expectation linger as it flies: Nor fate one moment unenjoy'd restore: Each moment's flight how precious to the wise! 102 O shun the annoyance of the bustling throng, That haunt with zealous turbulence the great: There coward Office boasts the unpunish'd wrong, And sneaks secure in insolence of state. 103 O'er fancied injury Suspicion pines, And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound: Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines, And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around. 104 Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne, Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim, Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown, The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame: 105 Hope not, though all that captivates the wise, All that endears the good exalt thy praise: Hope not to taste repose: for Envy's eyes At fairest worth still point their deadly rays. 106 Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart, Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm? Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart, Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm? 107 Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains, And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm, Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains, Or soil accursed with balmy life inform. 108 Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour, When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme: When Insult mocks the clemency of Power, And loud dissension's livid firebrands gleam: 109 When squint-eyed Slander plies the unhallow'd tongue, From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line, And Muse apostate (infamy to song!) Grovels, low muttering, at Sedition's shrine. 110 Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade, The whispering grove, the fountain and the plain: Power, with the oppressive weight of pomp array'd, Pants for simplicity and ease in vain. 111 The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear, But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn; And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere: Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn. 112 She loves to wander on the untrodden lawn, Or the green bosom of reclining hill, Soothed by the careless warbler of the dawn, Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill. 113