Indelible, Death’s image on his heart;
Bleeding for others, trembling for himself. 510
We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we smile.
The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry.
Our quick-returning folly cancels all;
As the tide rushing razes what is writ
In yielding sands, and smooths the letter’d shore.
Lorenzo! hast thou ever weigh’d a sigh?
Or studied the philosophy of tears?
(A science, yet unlectured in our schools!)