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There is a lust in man no charm can tame, Of loudly publishing his neighbour's shame. On aegle's wings, immortal, scandals fly, While virtuous actions are but born and die. J'avoue que je n'ai pas le temps de faire toutes les recherches et les expériences qu'exige l'art de nager. C'est pourquoi je me bornerai
St-Céran ... toute une année, De bals et de fleurs couronnée, Nous laisse un heureux souvenir. But in mans dwelling, he became a thing Restless, and worn, and stern, and wearisome, Drop'd as a wild born talon with clept wings, To whom the boundless air alone were home.
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