Secure from storms, enjoy their little hour,
Despise the whirlwind, and defy the shower.
Such is our life,—in sunshine or in shade,
From evil shelter'd, or by woe assay'd:
Whether we sit, like Niobe, all tears,
Or calmly sink into the vale of years:
With houseless, naked Edgar, sleep on straw,
Or keep, like Cæsar, subject worlds in awe,—
To the same port our devious journeys tend,
Where airy hopes and sickening sorrows end;