Youth of delight， come hither，

    And see the opening morn，

    Image of truth new-born.

    Doubt is fled， and clouds of reason，

    Dark disputes and artful teasing.

    Folly¹ is an endless maze²，

    Tangled³ roots perplex her ways.

    How many have fallen there！

    They stumble all night over bones of the dead，

    And feel they know not what but care，

    And wish to lead others， when they should be led.