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Pleasing, not terrible, the vision seems.
Thou wouldst not live a cipher. Thy young heart
Throbs with its eagerness a part to bear,
Some worthy part, among the good and brave
Who live to conquer ill, and love the strifes
Whose prize is gladness and whose fruits are Peace.
No weak ambition thine to send thy name
Resounding, like an echo, through the world;
Made common on all lips, sullied perchance
By its rude contacts, and its fragrance lost!
Wiser, thou choosest in the tranquil sphere
Of dear domestic peace, by duty done
To grave thine image on the loving hearts
That gather round thee, to thine influence sweet
Opening, as lilies on the placid stream
Bare their fair bosoms to the grateful sun.
Nobler thou deem'st the task, that manly heart
Now knit to thine, beyond all chance to hold
Loyal to thee and restful in thy truth;
To make thyself his ever conscious want,
His life's chief joy; nor, striving, shalt thou fail