Thought Would Destroy Their Paradise.

The Boast Of Heraldry, The Pomp Of Pow'r, And All That Beauty, All That Wealth E'er Gave, Awaits Alike Th' Inevitable Hour. The Paths Of Glory Lead But To The Grave.

Bright-eyed Fancy, Hov'ring O'er, Scatters From Her Pictured Urn Thoughts That Breathe And Words That Burn.

Here Rests His Head Upon The Lap Of Earth, A Youth To Fortune And To Fame Unknown: Fair Science Frown'd Not On His Humble Birth, And Melancholy Mark'd Him For Her Own.

Full Many A Gem Of Purest Ray Serene The Dark Unfathom'd Caves Of Ocean Bear: Full Many A Flower Is Born To Blush Unseen, And Waste Its Sweetness On The Desert Air.

To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance Their Many-twinkling Feet.