Bliss is our aim, and bliss our end,
And he who points the path, a friend.
A Goat and Fox, by joint consent,
Together once a journey went;
With patient steps from morning’s dawn,
They measur’d hill, and vale, and lawn;
When Phœbus in the zenith rode,
A cheerless, pathless waste they trod;
The fainting wand’rers wide around,
With sighs survey’d the burning ground;