How strong a band hath Time! Love weaves
His wreath of flowers and myrtle leaves,
(Methinks his fittest crown would be
A chaplet from the cypress tree;)
With hope his breast is swelling high,
And brightly beams his laughing eye;
But soon his hopes are mixed with fears,
And soon his smiles are quenched in tears:
Then Disappointment's blighting breath
Breathes o'er him, and he droops to death;
While the Destroyer glideth by,
And smiles, as if in mockery.
How strong a hand hath Time! Fame wins
The eager youth to her embrace;
With tameless ardour he begins,
And follows up the bootless race;
Ah! bootless--for, as on he hies,
With equal speed the phantom flies,
Till youth, and strength, and vigour gone,
He faints, and sinks, and dies unknown;
While the Destroyer passeth by,
And smiles, as if in mockery.
Gaze, stranger, on the scene below;
'Tis scarce a century ago,
Since here abode another race,
The men of tomahawk and bow,
The savage sons of war and chase;
Yet where, ah! where, abide they now?
Go search, and see if thou canst find,
One trace which they have left behind,
A single mound, or mossy grave,
That holds the ashes of the brave;
A single lettered stone to say
That they have lived, and passed away.
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