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Courteous to all—the stranger from the west, Who moors his budgerow on the strand beneath, Is welcomed as the Bramin's honoured guest, And for his hands are twined the brightest wreath. Oh! who that has approached that holy fane Can pass unheeding from the blessed spot, Where peace, and hope, and sweet contentment reign, Nor sigh with envy at the Bramin's lot, Who purified and free from worldly care, In sacred duties all his life employs, And in earth's sorrows bearing little share, The dearest, brightest bliss of Heaven enjoys?