To husband out life’s taper at the close,

And keep the flame from wasting by repose:

I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,

Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,—

Around my fire an evening group to draw,

And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;

And as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,

Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,

I still had hopes, my long vexations past,

Here to return—and die at home at last.