Afar from guilty gold and bloody strife.
How glad he views his prosperous projects smile,
What guiltless joys his long, long life beguile.
With joy he sees his offspring rise around,
His body's scions, with sweet virtue crowned.
And, when, at last, his form succumbs to time,
He sees that offspring strangers yet to crime;
And, inly joys to think his drooping age
They will sustain, and all his pains assuage,
Till, like an apple mellowed, ripe, and sound,