The man, how wise, who, sick of gaudy scenes,
Is led by choice to take his favourite walk
Beneath death’s gloomy, silent cypress shades,
Unpierced by vanity’s fantastic ray!
To read his monuments, to weigh his dust,
Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs!
Young.
Why should man’s high aspiring mind
Burn in him, with so proud a breath:
When all his haughty views can find