Sees fame and honors round his pathway spread,
And views green laurels in the distance glancing,
All wreathed in beauty for his waiting head.
Gather ripe fruit, oh death! the young bride crieth,
Whilst blushing joys her trembling bosom thrill,
And each enchanted hour so noiseless flieth,
That no distracting fears her bright hopes fill.
The future, all in rainbow-tints is glowing,
Painted with hues from Love’s own gorgeous dyes;
And life seems but a river, softly flowing