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OF TEMPER.
69


Serena gaz'd, but soon she turn'd away,
Mute with disgust, and shuddering with dismay.
"To scenes less hideous let us now repair!"
(Said the kind guard of the dejected fair)
And, cheering her faint charge, her step she led
To the near dwelling of the fretful dead.
Of dusky adamant the dungeon rose;
A dingy mirror its dark sides compose,
Reflecting, with a thousand quaint grimaces,
The pale inhabitants' distorted faces.
"Here, like a dame of quality array'd,
Sits Peevishness, presiding o'er the shade,
And frowning at her own uncomely mien,
Whose coarse reflection on the wall is seen.
A snarling lap-dog her right-hand restrains,
Her lap an infant porcupine contains,
Which, while her fondness tries its wrath to still,
Wounds her each moment with a pointed quill.
The froward spirits here in durance fret,
Whose testy life was one continued pet;