  Tir'd with the busy crowds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, 'Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame. Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares, And every weary sense compose to rest, Lighten th' oppressive load which anguish bears, And warm with hope the cold desponding breast. Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown; And on the cold earth stretch'd the son of Woe Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown. When rous'd by thee, on boundless pinions borne Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove, Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn, Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove; Or skims the main, and listens to the storms, Marks the long waves roll far remote away; Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms, Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day. Haply, ere long, pierc'd by the howling blast, Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam, Plunge down th' unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb: Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale, Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours beguile, And airs of rapture warble in the gale. Instructive emblem of this mortal state! Where scenes as various every hour arise In swift succession, which the hand of Fate Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes. Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store; Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys, Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more. And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile, Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile. Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn, 'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life. |
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