Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.

Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.

Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?