Alas, Regardless Of Their Doom, The Little

Where Ignorance Is Bliss, 'tis Folly To Be Wise.

Nor Grandeur Hear With A Disdainful Smile The Short And Simple Annals Of The Poor.

The Hues Of Bliss More Brightly Glow, Chastis'd By Sabler Tints Of Woe.

To Each His Suff'rings; All Are Men, Condemn'd Alike To Groan,- The Tender For Another's Pain, Th' Unfeeling For His Own. Yet Ah! Why Should They Know Their Fate, Since Sorrow Never Comes Too Late, And Happiness Too Swiftly Flies? Thought Would Destroy Their Paradise. No More; Where Ignorance Is Bliss, 't Is Folly To Be Wise.

Ruin Seize Thee, Ruthless King! Confusion On Thy Banners Wait! Though Fann'd By Conquest's Crimson Wing, They Mock The Air With Idle State.