He walked with Pleasure every idle hour, Eluding virtue while he followed joy. With careless freedom, conscious of his power, He formed his friendships only to destroy. Men called him heartless; women shed vain tears. He scoffed at creeds that pointed him to prayer. His selfish days slipped into numbered years Without a pause; and none were left to care. Then came a moment that remorse gave check; He turned to charity to cloak his wrong. His waking conscience, long a shadowed wreck, Applied for peace in penitential song. No bribe had strength to add an extra day -- A chill wind mourns alone above his clay. |