The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

We frolic while 'tis May.

What female heart can gold despise? What cat 's averse to fish?

If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

Low on his funeral couch he lies!