8
Underwoods
No. VI. The Hour-Glass.
Consider this small dust, here in the glass
By atoms moved:
Could you believe that this the body was
Of one that loved;
And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly, 5
Was turned to cinders by her eye:
Yes; and in death, as life unblest,
To have 't exprest,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
The Hour-Glass
O think, fair maid! these sands that pass
In slender threads adown this glass,
Were once the body of some swain,
Who lov'd too well and lov'd in vain,
And let one soft sigh heave thy breast, 5
That not in life alone unblest
E'en lovers' ashes find no rest.
First published in The Courier, August 30, 1811; included in Essays on His Own Times, iii. 994. Now collected for the first time.
The original is a translation of a Latin Epigram, 'Horologium Pulvereum, Tumulus Alcippi,' by Girolamo Amaltei.