⁠The fair banks I descend,
And to the false waters
⁠My thirsty lips bend;

For a full draught I seek,
⁠But feel suddenly by,
Disenchant me the call
⁠Of a friendly cry:—

"Where impell'd dost thou go,
⁠In such blind madness, where?
O, fool! round thy footsteps
⁠Hid dangers are there!

"The wild fancy restrain,
⁠Light ill-omen'd is this,
Where but lures thee to whelm
⁠A fatal abyss.

"Of thy happier years
⁠Is the verdure dispell'd,
And what were then graces
⁠Now vices are held.

"Thou art man! it befits
⁠Thee repenting in truth,
To gild virtuous with toils
⁠The errors of youth!"