But who can view the ripened rose, nor seek[gr]

To wear it? who can curiously behold

The smoothness and the sheen of Beauty's cheek,

Nor feel the heart can never all grow old?[gs]

Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold

The star[284] which rises o'er her steep, nor climb?

Harold, once more within the vortex, rolled

On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,

Yet with a nobler aim than in his Youth's fond prime.[gt] [285]