Recall one scene so much belov'd to view,

As those where Youth her garland twin'd for you?

400

Ah, no! amid the gloomy calm of age You turn with faltering hand life's varied page,

Peruse the record of your days on earth, Unsullied only where it marks your birth; Still, lingering, pause above each chequer'd leaf,

And blot with Tears the sable lines of Grief;

Where Passion o'er the theme her mantle threw,

Or weeping Virtue sigh'd a faint adieu; But bless the scroll which fairer words adorn,

Trac'd by the rosy finger of the Morn; When Friendship bow'd before the shrine of Truth,

411

3.

His joy or grief, his weal or woe, Perchance may 'scape the page of fame;

Yet nations, now unborn, will know
The record of his deathless name.

4.

The Patriot's and the Poet's frame Must share the common tomb of all: Their glory will not sleep the same; That will arise, though Empires fall.

5.

The lustre of a Beauty's eye

Assumes the ghastly stare of death; The fair, the brave, the good must die, And sink the yawning grave beneath.

6.

Once more, the speaking eye revives, Still beaming through the lover's strain;

For Petrarch's Laura still survives:
She died, but ne'er will die again.

7.

The rolling seasons pass away,

And Time, untiring, waves his wing; Whilst Honour's laurels ne'er decay, But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.

8.

All, all must sleep in grim repose,
Collected in the silent tomb;
The old, the young, with friends and
foes,

Fest'ring alike in shrouds, consume.

9.

The mouldering marble lasts its day,
Yet falls at length an useless fane;
To Ruin's ruthless fangs a prey,

The wrecks of pillar'd Pride remain.

IO.

What, though the sculpture be destroy'd,
From dark Oblivion meant to guard;
A bright renown shall be enjoy'd,
By those whose virtues claim reward.