golden rules in rhyme.
55
Nor idly waste the golden hours, The plumes of Time's swift wings: The watch must still be wound to work, Or rust corrodes its springs.
If once a purpose pure and high You form, for naught forego it!"The mulberry leaf to silk is changed By Patience," says the poet.
Let Fancy fly her fairy kite, And light with wit its wing, dear But oh, lest it go out of sight, Bid Reason hold the string, dear.
For, soaring where the poet's heaven With starry gems is spangled It might, by Folly's zephyr driven, In moonshine get entangled.
Yet sneer not thou at those who rise To loftier delusions; "Great truths are oft," the sage replies, "Foreshadow'd by illusions."
