Satiate with fame enjoys well-earn'd repoſe,
And ſees his ſtormy day ſerenely cloſe.
Not ſuch my lot! Severer fates decree
My ſhatter'd bark muſt plough an unknown ſea.
Forc'd from my native ſeats and ſacred home,
Friendleſs, alone, thro' Scythian wilds to roam;
With trembling knees o'er unknown hills I go,
Stiff with blue ice and heap'd with drifted ſnow.
Pale ſuns there ſtrike their feeble rays in vain,
Which faintly glance againſt the marble plain:
Red Iſter there, which madly laſh'd the ſhore,
His idle urn ſeal'd up, forgets to roar:
Stern winter in eternal triumph reigns,
Shuts up the bounteous year and ſtarves the plains.
My failing eyes the weary waſte explore,
The ſavage mountains and the dreary ſhore,
And vainly look for ſcenes of old delight;
