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90 Satiate with fame enjoys well-earn'd repoe, And ees his tormy day erenely cloe.

&emsp;Not uch my lot! Severer fates decree My hatter'd bark mut plough an unknown ea. Forc'd from my native eats and acred home, Friendles, alone, thro' Scythian wilds to roam; With trembling knees o'er unknown hills I go, Stiff with blue ice and heap'd with drifted now. Pale uns there trike their feeble rays in vain, Which faintly glance againt the marble plain: Red Iter there, which madly lah'd the hore, His idle urn eal'd up, forgets to roar: Stern winter in eternal triumph reigns, Shuts up the bounteous year and tarves the plains. My failing eyes the weary wate explore, The avage mountains and the dreary hore, And vainly look for cenes of old delight; No