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The solitary, silent, solemn scene, Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie, Blended in dust together; where the slave Rests from his labors; where th' insulting proud Resigns his powers; the miser drops his hoard: Where human folly sleeps.

And see the rivers how they run Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,-- Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep!

And he that will this health deny, Down among the dead men let him lie.

So little distant dangers seem: So we mistake the future's face, Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass; As yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air, Which to those who journey near, Barren, brown, and rough appear.

While the wanton Zephyr sings, And in the vale perfumes his wings.