183THE APOPLECTIC.

A TALE.

This metaphor each rustic knows,—Frail man is like the flower that blowsAt mom: before the beam of day,In air the dew-drop melts away,The evanescent blossom fades;And, long before the mellow shadesOf Even cover tower and tree,And all the varied sceneryLike a pale shroud, it withering liesBefore the mower's scythe and dies.Death is the mower;—and who canDeny his mastery o'er man ?

Fond man! who eyes the coming hourAs if already in his power,O'erlooking all that lies betweenThe foreground and the distant scene;Or, drawing large from Fancy's store,Bids fairy landscapes spread before