THE BOAST OF

HERALDRY, THE POMP OF POW'R,

AND ALL THAT BEAUTY, ALL THAT WEALTH EER GAVE,

AWAIT

ALIKE TH' INEVITABLE HOUR.

THE PATH S OF GLORY LEAD BUT TO THE GRAVE.

FAULT,

NOR YOU, YE PROUD, IMPUTE TO THESE THE
IF MEMORY O'ER THEIR TOMB NO TROPHIES RAISE,
THROUGH THE LONG-DRAWN ISLE AND FRETTED VAULT
THE PEALING ANTHEM SWELLS THE NOTE OF PRAISE.

WHERE

CAN STORIED URN, OR ANIMATED BUST,

BACK TO ITS MANSION CALL THE FLEETING BREATH?
CAN HONOUR'S VOICE PROVOKE THE SILENT DUST,
OR FLATTRY SOOTHE THE DULL COLD EAR OF DEATH?

PERHAPS

IN THIS

NEGLECTED SPOT IS LAID

SOME HEART ONCE PREGNANT WITH CELESTIAL FIRE;
HANDS, THAT THE ROD OF EMPIRE MIGHT HAVE SWAY'D,
OR WAK'D TO EXTASY THE LIVING LYRE: