How the broad umbrage intercepts Sol’s rays,
To shade his beauties from too fierce a blaze:
Far from the field, he, foe to rest, can dare
The direr dangers of intemp’rate fare,
While day nor night his ardent labour close,
And the full cellar interdicts repose:
O’er hallowed ground no daring footsteps tread,
But sacred hold the mansions of the dead;
Its shades prophan’d no ruin’d temple mourns,
Nor ghosts bewail their violated urns.