Say, lovely fugitive, where dost thou dwell?
Desir'd of all, and sought through every scene,
In pomp of courts, and in the rural green,
Life's public walk, and hermit's lonely cell.
Thee, goddess! sought of all, but found by few,
We seek in vain, bewilder'd as we go;
Tir'd of the chace, man ceases to pursue,
And sighing, says, thou dwellest not below.
Does he not after fairy shadows run?
Follows he not some wild illusive dream,
Like children who would catch the radiant sun,
Grasp at its image in the glittering stream?
If right he sought, then man would meet success,
For surely “Virtue leads to happiness.”