Could pierce the depths of far futurity,
And all the winged shafts of fate defy!
Art proud of riches? of the glittering dust
Each day may rob thee of, and one day must;
When mines of wealth will purchase no delay,
When dust to dust must turn, and clay to clay,
And nought remain to thee, of all possessed,
Save one dark cell in earth’s unconscious breast?
Or proud of power? on this little ball
Some petty tract may thee its master call,