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The Castle of Indolence.
9
XVI.
“A pure ethereal Calm! that knows no Storm;
“Above the Reach of wild Ambition's Wind,
“Above those Passions that this World deform,
“And torture Man, a proud malignant Worm!
“But here, instead, soft Gales of Passion play,
“And gently stir the Heart, thereby to form
“A quicker Sense of Joy; as Breezes stray
“Across th'enliven'd Skies, and make them still more gay.
XVII.
“They hate to mingle in the filthy Fray;
“Where the Soul sowrs, and gradual Rancour grows,
“Imbitter'd more from peevish Day to Day.
“Even Those whom Fame has lent her fairest Ray,
“The most renown'd of worthy Wights of Yore,
“From a base World at last have stolen away:
“So Scipio, to the soft Cumæan Shore
“Retiring, tasted Joy he never knew before.
XVIII.
