How best the fleeting moments to improve,
Nor lose one portion of so rare a boon.
But soon, too soon, the glorious scenes are fled,
Scarce one short moon enjoy’d; (oh! transient state
Of sublunary bliss!) by bitter change,
And other scenes succeeded, what fierce pangs
Then rack my soul! what ceaseless floods of grief
Rush down my cheeks, while strong convulsive throbs
Heave all my frame, and choak the power of speech!
Forlorn I sigh, nor heed the gentle voice