Still urges onward—undismay’d to tread
Where life’s fond lovers would recoil with dread.
But fear is’ for the happy—they may shrink
From the steep precipice or torrent’s brink;
They to whom earth is paradise—their doom
Lends no stern courage to approach the tomb:
Not such his lot, who, school’d by fate severe,
Were but too blest if aught remain’d to fear.[102]
Up the rude crags, whose giant masses throw
Eternal shadows o’er the glen below;