That no man’s feelings ever lead him wrong:
And thus I went, as on the varnish’d ice,
The smooth career of unbelief and vice.
Oft would the youths, with sprightly speech and bold,
Their witty tales of naughty priests unfold;
’Twas all a craft,’ they said, ‘a cunning trade;
Not she the priests, but priests Religion made.’
So I believed:” - No, Abel! to thy grief:
So thou relinquish’dst all that was belief: -
“I grew as very flint, and when the rest