XVIII

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XVIII

When, wise at length, we seek repose

Beneath the flag of Quietude,

When Passion’s fire no longer glows

And when her violence reviewed⁠—

Each gust of temper, silly word,

Seems so unnatural and absurd:

Reduced with effort unto sense,

We hear with interest intense

The accents wild of other’s woes,

They stir the heart as heretofore.

So ancient warriors, battles o’er,

A curious interest disclose

In yarns of youthful troopers gay,

Lost in the hamlet far away.