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OF TEMPER.
63


The guide celestial, near this ghastly group,
Perceiv'd her tender charge with terror droop:
"Fear not, sweet maid!" she cries, my steps pursue,
Nor gaze too long on this infernal crew!
Turn from Detraction's fascinating glass!
In silence cross the throne! observe, and pass!
Beyond this dome, the palace of the queen,
Her empire winds thro' many a dreary scene,
Where she torments, as their deserts require,
Her various victims that on earth expire;
Each class apart: for in a different cell
The fierce, the fretful, and the sullen dwell:
These shalt thou slightly view, in vapours hurl'd,
And swiftly then regain thy native world.
But first remark, within that ample niche,
With every quaint device of splendor rich,
Yon phantom, who, from vulgar eyes withdrawn,
Appears to stretch in one eternal yawn:
Of empire here he holds the tottering helm,
Prime minister in Spleen's discordant realm,