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Arise, Bermudo, bid thy soul beware:
Thee raging Fortune watches to ensnare;
And, lulling others' hopes in dreams supine,
A fell assault she meditates on thine.
The cruel blow which suffer'd from her rage
Thy poor estate will not her wrath assuage,
Till from thy breast her fury may depose
The blissful calm to innocence it owes.
Such is her nature, that she loathes the sight
Of happiness for man in her despite.
Thus to thine eyes insidious she presents
The phantasies of good, with which she paints
The road to favour, and would fain employ
Her arts thy holds of virtue to destroy.
Ah! heed her not. See her to rob thee stand
Ev'n of the happiness now in thy hand.
'Tis not of her; she cannot it bestow:
- ↑ From Works of Jovellanos, Mellado's edition, vol. iv. p. 226.
