The pole star has grown glimmering to my eye,
And meteors have become my spirit’s lure—
So from one failing step we come to tread
Paths that in early youth we swore to shun,
So, from the blue sky shining overhead,
The whispering angels leave us, one by one.
I have past by the goal; ’tis hard to pause,
And, but for pride, I should shake hands with Vice.
Trample on Virtue’s desecrated laws,
And with my own dishonor pay the price.