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Rh But the remotest point that lies

Open to human enterprise

Their course has gain'd, well skill'd to sweep

The wide expanse of glory's deep;

But not along the wondrous way

To Hyperborean crowds can ships or feet convey.

Of old, as at their sacred feast,

Whole hecatombs appeased the god,

The steps of an illustrious guest,

Perseus, their habitation trod;

Whose festivals and songs of praise

Apollo with delight surveys;

And smiles to see the bestial train

In wanton pride erect and vain.

Yet never will th' impartial muse

To dwell with minds like these refuse:

Around them move the virgin choirs,

The breathing flutes and sounding lyres;

And twining with their festive hair

The wreath of golden laurel fair,

With temperate mirth and social glee

They join in solemn revelry.

Nor dire disease, nor wasting age,

Against their sacred lives engage:

But free from trouble and from strife,

Through the mild tenour of their life