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Rh Their life all pleaure, and their tak all play, All pring their age, and unhine all their day. Not o the child of orrow, wretched man, His coure with toil concludes, with pain began, That his high detiny he might dicern, And in misfortune's chool this leon learn, Pleaure's the portion of th' inferior kind; But glory, virtue, Heaven for Man deign'd.

&emsp;What atom-forms of inect life appear! And who can follow nature's pencil here? Their wings with azure, green, and purple glos'd Studded with colour'd eyes, with gems embos'd, Inlaid with pearl, and mark'd with various tains Of lively crimon thro' their duky veins. Some hoot like living tars, athwart the night, And catter from their wings a vivid light, To guide the Indian to his tawny loves, As thro' the woods with cautious tep he moves. See