V

Not all to that bright station dared to climb;

      And happier they their happiness who knew,

      Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time

      In which suns perished; others more sublime,

Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,

      Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;

      And some yet live, treading the thorny road

Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode.