The brow unwrinkled by a care, and the lip triumphant in its gladness.
And for yon grave-faced folly, need not far to look for her;
How seriously on trifles dote those leaden eyes,
How ruefully she sigheth after chances long gone by,
How sulkily she moaneth over evils without cure!
I have known a true-born mirth, the child of innocence and wisdom,
I have seen a base-born gravity, mingled of ignorance and guilt:
And again, a base-born mirth, springing out of carelessness and folly;
And again, a true-born gravity, the product of reflection and right fear.
The wounded partridge hideth in a furrow, and a stricken conscience would be left alone;