Miscellanies in Prose and Verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

In vain by woe, by wisdom taught,
Wild pride the griefs of life extends,
Still toiling in the mine of thought,
Still dark'ning as the search descends.

As through the Temple's awful gloom,
The Sceptick darts his curious eyes,
He marks the Patriot's honour'd tomb,
And fierce demands—Why Virtue dies?—

Dies, when through all the tainted age,
Corruption revels uncontroul'd,
When ev'ry bosom feels the rage
Of pleasure, or the lust of gold.

Why was example's friendly light
Amidst the shelves of guilt deny'd,
On fortune's waves, in errours night,
Why roves weak man without a guide?

While thus the Patriot's early doom,
Employs th'enquirer's daring tongue,
Another gazer eye's the tomb,
And asks—Why Virtue liv'd so long?

Why Virtue liv'd with useless pain,
Her pow'r in weak attempts to spend,
To teach, to blame, to mourn in vain,
And shame the world she could not mend?

What power, delighted with the strife,
To view the toil, with-held the prize;
Impell'd her to the storms of life,
And shut the harbour of the skies?

Let restless doubt, with fatal art,
Charge life alike, if long, or short;
Be he my guide, whose humbler heart,
Strong Faith and constant Hope support.

Who leaves to Heav'n its secret laws,
Unsearch'd by reason's feeble rays;
Adores and trusts th'Eternal Cause,
And not examines, but obeys.

Such wisdom can relief bestow,
On those who Marcus' death deplore;
Or what shall calm their deeper woe,
Who live when Pollio is no more.