We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.

Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; Small stands the mountain, moments make the year, and trifles life.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

Too low they build who build below the skies.

Each moment has its sickle, emulous Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep Strikes empires from the root.