That taints with baleful light each blooming hope,
Who would forego this madness of delight;
Who without pain could hear a chase describ’d,
Or silent sit while others boast their feats,
When he himself might mount the neighing steed,
And urge the sprightly chase? Beneath a roof
Who would wear out the tedious, doleful day,
Oppress’d with discontent and dire remorse?
But that the dread of fall precipitate,
That unknown field, where, destitute of aid,