The New Hampshire Gazette And General Advertiser

Parnassian Spring.

Of the Vanity of Life.

How high
While on its flow'ry fields are drawn
Fair scenes of oft delight?
With joy alert, we swift ascend,
With trifling baubles pleased;
On such our youthful fancies bend,
By thee our wants are eased.
Next learning, with majestic port,
Allures us to her side:
With ardour we favors court,
Neglecting aught beside.
Thro' ev'ry maze we boldly stray.
And ransack all her store;
In toilsome studies pend each day,
Yet, panting, sigh for more?
On manhood's stage we next appear,
And think to roll in joy;
But oh! how oft sharp woes severe
Our darling hopes destroy?
Ten thousand crosses round us rise,
Misfortune's meagre train:
With Gorgon horrors frights our eyes,
And fills our souls with pain.
Thro' thorny paths thus forced to go,
With grief we journey on;
Lamenting at each pungent throe,
That e'er our lives began.
Too soon we find that all those joys,
For which life's flame we waste,
Are but delusive empty joys,
Which vanish ere we taste.
Next hoary age, with wrinkled brow,
Spoils ev'ry pleasing sense;
Our youthful spirits cease to flow,
And sink to indolence.
The gout, the dropsy, stone, and rheum,
With ev'ry tort'ring pain;
Our strength and faculties consumes,
While help's invok'd in vain.
So, when death's awful King appears,
We ask no pow'r to save;
But meet his dart, devoid of fears,
And court the gloomy grave.
Then who would ask life? Painful boon!
Tho' seeming joys invite,
When we reflect, they fade how soon!
And woe succeeds delight.
Let virtue then our pilot prove,
Thro' the hard toilsome way;
Then we'll like autumn's spoils remove,
And gently glide away.