Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/90

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Not he who comes with lanthorn lightShall guide thy groping pace arightWith faltering feet and slow;No! let him rear the torch on highAnd every maze shall meet thine eye,And every snare and every foe;Then with steady step and strong,Traveller, shalt thou march along.
Tho' Power invite thee to her hall,Regard not thou her tempting callHer splendors meteor glare;Tho' courteons Flattery there awaitAnd Wealth adorn the dome of State,There stalks the midnight spectre Care;Peace, Traveller! does not sojourn there.
If Fame allure thee, climb not thouTo that steep mountain's craggy browWhere stands her stately pile;
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