The virtues of his creatures; thus he rules The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal; Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame; 390 The vows of gratitude, the faith of love; And all the comely intercourse of praise, The joy of human life, the earthly heaven! How far unlike them must the lot of guilt Be found! Or what terrestrial woe can match The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought The bane of others, or enslaved itself With shackles vile? Not poison, nor sharp fire, Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate Suggested, or despotic rage imposed, 400 Were at that season an unwish'd exchange, When the soul loathes herself; when, flying thence To crowds, on every brow she sees portray'd Pell demons, Hate or Scorn, which drive her back To solitude, her judge's voice divine To hear in secret, haply sounding through The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still Demanding for his violated laws Fit recompense, or charging her own tongue To speak the award of justice on herself. 410 For well she knows what faithful hints within Were whisper'd, to beware the lying forms Which turn'd her footsteps from the safer way, What cautions to suspect their painted dress, And look with steady eyelid on their smiles, Their frowns, their tears. In vain; the dazzling hues Of Fancy, and Opinion's eager voice, Too much prevail'd. For mortals tread the path In which Opinion says they follow good Or fly from evil; and Opinion gives 420 Report of good or evil, as the scene Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform'd; Thus her report can never there be true Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye With glaring colours and distorted lines. Is there a man to whom the name of death Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjured up Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows, And the frail soul plunged headlong from the brink Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 430 An unknown depth, to gulfs of torturing fire Unvisited by mercy? Then what hand Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire To twine around his heart? Or who shall hush Their clamour, when they tell him that to die, To risk those horrors, is a direr curse Than basest life can bring? Though Love with prayers Most tender, with affliction's sacred tears, Beseech his aid; though Gratitude and Faith 440 Condemn each step which loiters; yet let none Make answer for him that if any frown Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay Content, and be a wretch to be secure. Here Vice begins then: at the gate of life, Ere the young multitude to diverse roads Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown, Sits Fancy, deep enchantress; and to each With kind maternal looks presents her bowl, A potent beverage.