Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;
18. The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame;
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the muse’s flame.
19. Far from the madding crowds ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray:
Along the cool, sequestered[662] vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.