CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Next, be upright ; for, though thy hand Great Phoebus' self should stoop to train,
No excellence canst thou command, Dost thou the simple truth disdain, —
Still must thou yield to him whose thought
By plain sincerity is taught.
For to the false, the vain, the weak,
The gods' own lyre yields no sweet voice ;
Not genius' self can make it speak Save with a wild, discordant noise,
Till the musician's soul shall be
Tuned with his harp in harmony.
Next, Science seek, though fools deride, For she to truth must lead the way ;
And never roam from Reason's side, Lest Fancy tempt thy steps astray ;
But let thy wit be well content
To serve as wisdom's ornament.
Let not Prosperity seduce ;
Receive her as a formal guest ; And to Adversity's abuse
Present a spirit undepressed ; And ever live from brawls exempt ; Hold rank and riches in contempt.
Live free, and strive to make men so,
Though driven to dwell with nations rude :
No flowers of poesy can grow On the bleak wastes of servitude.
Learn to disdain all worthless things,
And flatter neither mobs nor kincs.
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