Rich with the spoils of time.
Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.
Ah, tell them they are men!
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
We frolic while 'tis May.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!