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74
THE TRIUMPHS


She spoke; and led the nymph thro' deeper dells,
Low murmuring vaults, and horror-breathing cells,
And now they pass a perforated cage,
Where rancorous spectres without number rage.
"Avert thine eye!" (the heavenly spirit said)
"Nor view these abject, tribes of envious dead!
Who pin'd to hear the voice of truth proclaim
A sister's beauty, or a brother's fame!
Tho' crown'd with all prosperity imparts,
High in their various ranks, and several arts;
Yet, meanly sunk by envy's base control;
They died in that consumption of the soul;
And here, thro' bars that twisted adders make,
And the long volumes of th' envenom'd snake,
O'er this dark road they dart an anxious eye,
Still envying every fiend that flutters by.
Pass! and regard them not!"—Th' attentive maid
In silent tremor the behest obey'd.
This dungeon crost, her weary feet she drags
Thro' winding caverns, and o'er icy crags: