The Hues Of Bliss More Brightly Glow,

Ah, Tell Them They Are Men!

Beyond The Limits Of A Vulgar Fate, Beneath The Good How Far,-but Far Above The Great.

Rich With The Spoils Of Time.

I Shall Be But A Shrimp Of An Author.

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.