University of Virginia Library


32

XX.

How brief, how troubled is this mortal scene!
The cruel fates our cherish'd hopes deride,
And rudely snatch our dear ones from our side.
Yet, looking back through tears on what hath been,
I own the truth—though sobs that rise between
Impede the utterance—that, by grief untried,
By memories of the dead unsanctified,
Our life were but a shallow thing and mean.
We are not made for self-complacent ease,
Or boastful confidence. But oh! stern Powers,
Whate'er ye be, that rule our destinies,
Pity poor mortals, and forbear to lay
Too heavy burdens on these hearts of ours,
Or we shall faint and perish by the way.