Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn,
'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife;
But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn,
When Death awakes us to immortal life.
ELEGY.
Exults the fluttering heart, O Mortal-born,
If Fame pronounce thee beautiful and wise,
If pompous blazonry thy name adorn!——
Approach, with trembling awe, where **** lies;
And pause; and know thy boasted honours vain.
Vain all the gifts that fortune can bestow.
Late shone around Her all the gorgeous train,
But shine not round the mouldering dust below.
Gaz'd at from far by Envy's lifted eye
What then avails to deck th' exalted scene,
If there the blasting storms of anguish fly,
If Frailty there displays her withering mien?
But Virtue (sacred plant!) no soil disdains;
The plant that Frailty's fiercest frown defies.
Retir'd it blooms amid the lowly plains;
Or decks the mountain's brow that mates the skies,
And there conspicuous forms the Pilgrim's bower,
When Sorrow darts direct the feverish ray;
And forms his shelter from the tempest's power
In stern Oppression's desolating day.
This, Grandeur, be thy praise; 'tis more than fame.
This praise was Hers; yet not to this confin'd,
Hers was th' indulgent soul untaught to blame,
Hers all the graces of the mildest mind.