DEATH, THE SAGE, AND THE FOOD.

329

XII.

Yet on, o'er spring-flowered earth, o'er wintry seas,

Reckless ye haste, with never-tarrying speed,Clouded by Folly's thousand fantasies ;—Shadows your aim, —and Death the well-earnedmeed!On—on ye pass,—and thousands quick succeed!

Such is the scope of human joys and fears !Thrice blest in hope, and trebly cursed in deed !Ye clutch the bow that high in Heaven appears,As though some new delight,—ye clutch a bow oftears!