Instructive emblem of this mortal state! Where scenes as various every hour arise In swift succession, which the hand of Fate Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes.
Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store; Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys, Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more.
And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile, Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile.
Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn, 'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life.
Exults the fluttering heart, O Mortal-born, If Fame pronounce thee beautiful and wise, If pompous blazonry thy name adorn!---- Approach, with trembling awe, where **** lies;
And pause; and know thy boasted honours vain. Vain all the gifts that fortune can bestow. Late shone around Her all the gorgeous train, But shine not round the mouldering dust below.
Gaz'd at from far by Envy's lifted eye What then avails to deck th' exalted scene, If there the blasting storms of anguish fly, If Frailty there displays her withering mien?
But Virtue (sacred plant!) no soil disdains; The plant that Frailty's fiercest frown defies. Retir'd it blooms amid the lowly plains; Or decks the mountain's brow that mates the skies,
And there conspicuous forms the Pilgrim's bower, When Sorrow darts direct the feverish ray; And forms his shelter from the tempest's power In stern Oppression's desolating day.
This, Grandeur, be thy praise; 'tis more than fame. This praise was Hers; yet not to this confin'd, Hers was th' indulgent soul untaught to blame, Hers all the graces of the mildest mind.
Slight is your wound, who mourn a Guardian lost, Though grief's sharp sting now prompts the pious sigh; He lives the friend of man, the Muse's boast, And Bounty's hand shall wipe your streaming eye.
But ah! what balm shall heal His bleeding heart, Who for the Friend, and for the Lover mourns! Of all the joys that friendship can impart, When love's divinest flame united burns,
Possess'd so late! but now possess'd no more!-- Thus triumphs fate o'er all that charms below; Thus curbs the storm till joy's meridian hour, To wrap the smiling scene in darker woe.