Worn on the edge of days the brass consumes,
The busto moulders, and the deep-cut marble,
Unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge.
Ambition, half convicted of her folly,
Hangs down the head, and reddens at the tale.

Here all the mighty troublers of the earth, Who swam to sovereign rule through seas of blood; Th' oppressive, sturdy, man-destroying villains, Who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires waste, And in a cruel wantonness of power

Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave up To want the rest; now, like a storm that's spent, Lie hush'd, and meanly sneak behind the covert.. Vain thought! to hide them from the general scorn That haunts and dogs them, like an injur'd ghost Implacable.-Here too the petty tyrant,

Whose scant domains geographer ne'er notic'd,

And, well for neighbouring grounds, of arm as short, Who fix'd his iron talons on the poor,

And griped them like some lordly beast of prey;

Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger,
And piteous plaintive voice of misery;
(As if a slave was not a shred of nature,
Of the same common feelings with his lord ;)

Now tame and humble like a child that's whip'd,

Shakes hands with dust, and calls the worm his kinsman.

Nor pleads his rank and birthright. Under ground Precedency's a jest ; vassal and lord,

Grossly familiar, side by side consume.

When self-esteem, or others' adulation,
Would cunningly persuade us we were something
Above the common level of our kind,

The grave gainsays the smooth-complexion'd flattery,
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.

Beauty!-thou pretty plaything, dear deceit,
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulse, unknown before,
The grave discredits thee: thy charms expunged,
Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,

What hast thou more to boast of? Will thy lovers
Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage?
Methinks I see thee with thy head low laid,
Whilst surfeited upon thy damask cheek
The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscar'd.-For this, was all thy caution?
For this, thy painful labours at the glass?

T' improve those charms, and keep them in repair,
For which the spoiler thanks thee not. Foul feeder!
Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,
And leave as keen a relish on the sense.

Look how the fair one weeps!—the conscious tears
Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flowers:

Honest effusion! the swol'n heart in vain
Works hard to put a gloss on its distress.

Strength too-thou surly, and less gentle boast
Of those that loud laugh at the village-ring;
A fit of common sickness pulls thee down

With greater ease, than e'er thou didst the stripling
That rashly dar'd thee to th' unequal fight.
What groan was that I heard? deep groan indeed!
With anguish heavy laden; let me trace it:
From yonder bed it comes, where the strong nian,
By stronger arm belabour'd, gasps for breath
Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart
Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant
To give the lungs full play. What now avail
The strong-built sinewy limbs, and well-spread shoul-
ders?

See how he tugs for life, and lays about him,

Mad with his pain!-Eager he catches hold

Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard,
Just like a creature drowning; hideous sight!
Oh! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghastly!
While the distemper's rank and deadly venom
Shoots like a burning arrow cross his bowels,
And drinks his marrow up.-Heard you that groan?
It was his last. See how the great Goliah,
Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest,

Lies still.-What mean'st thou then, Q mighty boaster

To vaunt of nerves of thine? what means the bull,
Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward,
And flee before a feeble thing like man ;
That, knowing well the slackness of his arm,
Trusts only in the well-invented knife?

With study pale, and midnight vigils spent,
The star-surveying sage close to his eye
Applies the sight-invigorating tube;

And travelling through the boundless length of space,
Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs
That roll with regular confusion there,

In ecstasy of thought. But, ah! proud man,
Great heights are hazardous to the weak head;
Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails;
And down thou drop'st into that darksome place,
Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.

Here the tongue-warrior lies, disabled now, Disarm'd, dishonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd, And cannot tell his ail to passers by.

Great man of language!—whence this mighty change, This dumb despair, and drooping of the head?

Though strong persuasion hung upon thy lip,

And sly insinuation's softer arts

In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue ;

.

Alas! how chop-fall'n now! Thick mists and silence Rest, like a weary cloud, upon thy breast

Unceasing.-Ah! where is the lifted arm,

The strength of action, and the force of words,
The well-turn'd period, and the well-tuned voice,
With all the lesser ornaments of phrase?

Ah! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been,
Raz'd from the book of fame: or, more provoking,
Perchance some hackney hunger-bitten scribbler
Insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb
With long flat narrative, or duller rhymes,
With heavy halting pace that drawl along :
Enough to rouse a dead man into rage,

And warm with red resentment the wan cheek.

Here the great masters of the healing art, These mighty mock defrauders of the tomb, Spite of their julaps and catholicons, Resign to fate.-Proud Esculapius' son! Where are thy boasted implements of art, And all thy well-cram'd magazines of health? Nor hill nor vale, as far as ship could go, Nor margin of the gravel-bottom❜d brook, Escap'd thy rifling hand;-from stubborn shrubs Thou wrung'st their shy-retiring virtues out, And vex'd them in the fire: nor fly, nor insect, Nor writhy snake, escap'd thy deep research. But why this apparatus? why this cost? Tell us, thou doughty keeper from the grave, Where are thy recipes and cordials now,