Then will your mind be so well braced, In Spanish boots so tightly laced, That on 'twill circumspectly creep, Thought's beaten track securely keep, Nor will it, ignis-fatuus like, Into the path of error strike.

As rose the moon upon my right: But nought distinctly seen In the dim waste would indicate The omen of a cottage gate; No twinkling taper from afar Stood like a hospitable star: Not even an ignis-fatuus rose To make him merry with my woes: That very cheat had cheer'd me then!