How jocund[654] did they drive their team afield!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await, alike, the inevitable[655] hour;—
The paths of glory lead—but to the grave.