Is doom’d to live forgot, unheeded die!
For in your short-liv’d charms
Are pictur’d well its fate.
For ye, ere yet the morning’s rising gale
Shall wing its early course, may cease to greet
With the sweet breath of love
The wakeful wanderer’s way.
Nor longer, virtue’s boast! a little day,
A little hour, she blooms! Nor can her pow’r
Us helpless victims shield