'Twas but as flowerets o'er a tomb.
Which only hide the woe beneath.
I lose no portion of my woes,
Although my tears in secret flow;
More green and fresh the verdure grows,
Where the cold streams run hid below.
A MODEST ODE TO FORTUNE.
"Et genus et formam regina pecunia donat." HOR.
O Goddess Fortune, hear my prayer,
And make a bard for once thy care!