Since 'tis so then, little throbber,
You and I, alas! must part,
I'd not be thy comfort's robber;
To her I'll resign thee, heart.
Yet the maid in compensation
Must her own bestow on me,
And with such remuneration
Never shall I grieve for thee.
But should she, thy sorrows spurning,
This exchange, poor heart, deny,
Then I'll bear thee, heart, though mourning,
From her far and hasty fly.
But, alas! no pain assuaging,
That would but increase thy grief;
If kind Death still not its raging,
Granting thee a kind relief.
TIME.
O! Time, as thou on rapid wings
Encirclest earth's extensive ball,
Fatal thy flight to worldly things,
Thy darts cut down and ruin all.
A cloud from us thy form conceals;
Enwrapt its gloomy folds among,
Thou mov'st eternity's vast wheels,
And with them movest us along.
The swift-winged days thou urgest on,
With them life's sand beholdest pass,
And when our transient hours are gone,
Thou smilest at their exhausted glass.
Against Time's look, when he but frowns,
All strength, and skill, and power, are vain;
He withers laurels, wreaths, and crowns,
And breaks the matrimonial chain.
As Time moves onward, far and wide
His restless scythe mows all away,
All feels his breath, on every side
All sinks, resistless, to decay.