 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
90
SUDDEN PROSPERITY.
When Fortune on the necks of her proud steedsHath flung the reins, as if to reach the goal
All in one heat, and o'er all letts to roll
Her chariot-wheels, and seems to spurn all heeds;
And, on her mad course maddened, thy soul treads
On air, and grasps at either golden pole,
As children at the moon. That race, fond soul!
Like Phaeton's, to splendid ruin leads.
Thou no more these than that rash fool could guide
Those fiery coursers thro' the Zodiac,
The Balance-sign soon passed, she sits beside
And with soft smiles befools thee, while the black
And vanward clouds of evil threat thy pride,
Then hurls thee down, like a demoniac!
| Stones from The Quarry | |