Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
What ardently we wish, we soon believe.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Ah, how unjust to Nature and himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man!