The short-liv'd conflict of affection o'er,
I offer'd to the youth my dowerless hand,
And fondly reason'd thus on being poor,
"'Can pomp or splendour elevate the soul,
Brighten the lustre that illumes the eye!
Make the rough stream of life more smoothly roll,
Suppress the tear, or waft away the sigh!
"'Can happiness a purer joy receive,
In the proud mansions of the rich and great?
Or, tell me, can the wounded bosom heave