Gay Hope Is Theirs By Fancy Fed,

Fair Laughs The Morn, And Soft The Zephyr Blows, While Proudly Rising O'er The Azure Realm In Gallant Trim The Gilded Vessel Goes, Youth On The Prow, And Pleasure At The Helm.

To Each His Suff'rings: All Are Men, / Condemn'd Alike To Groan, / The Tender For Another's Pain; / Th' Unfeeling For His Own.

Along The Cool Sequestered Vale Of Life, They Kept The Noiseless Tenour Of Their Way.

For Who, To Dumb Forgetfulness A Prey, This Pleasing Anxious Being E'er Resign'd, Left The Warm Precincts Of The Cheerful Day, Nor Cast One Longing Ling'ring Look Behind?

Hands That The Rod Of Empire Might Have Sway'd, Or Waked To Ecstasy The Living Lyre.