The grave has swallowed, down from Adam, pass

In one unbroken stream—the brain would reel—

Lost in immensity, would cease to feel!

Whilst living, ah, how few were known to fame!

One in a million has not left a name,—

[Pg 31]

A single token, on life's shifting scene,

To tell to other years that such has been.

Yet man, unaided by a hope sublime,

Thinks that his puny arm can cope with time;

That his vast genius can reverse the doom,

And shed a deathless light upon his tomb;

That distant ages shall his worth admire,

And young hearts kindle at the sacred fire

Of him whose fame no envious clouds o'ercast,

Yet died forgotten and unknown at last.

Oh think not genius, with its hallowed light,

Can break the gloom of an eternal night;

For splendid talents often lead astray

The unguarded heart, and hide the narrow way,

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