Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.
From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
To brisk notes in cadence beating, glance their many-twinkling feet.
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.