One only portal opes the gloomy road;
One dire condition bursts the drear abode.
Slav'ry's dark genius heaves the iron door,
And, grinning ghastly, points to Guinea's shore—
Some few, the voluntary woe embrace,
Sore from false friends, or undeserv'd disgrace;
Subdu'd by pow'r, by fell misfortune worn,
Or by the pangs of hopeless passion torn;
Weary of griefs no patience can endure,
They seek the Lethe of a mortal cure.