Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/48

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All other passions; in their souls that viceStruck deeply-rooted, like the poison-treeThat with its shade spreads barrenness around.These, Maid! were men by no atrocious crimeBlacken'd, no fraud, nor ruffian violence:Men of fair dealing, and respectableOn earth, but such as only for themselvesHeap'd up their treasures, deeming all their wealthTheir own, and given to them, by partial Heaven,To bless them only: therefore here they sit,Possessed of gold enough, and by no painTormented, save the knowledge of the blissThey lost, and vain repentance. Here they dwell,Loathing these useless treasures, till the hourOf general restitution."Thence they past,And now arrived at such a gorgeous dome,As even the pomp of Eastern opulenceCould never equal: wandered thro' its hallsA numerous train; some with the red-swoln eye
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