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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, Can storied urn, or animated bust,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?

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Await alike the inevitable hour; Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust,

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?

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But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Full mauy a flower is born to blush unseen,

Rich with the spoils of time did ne"er unroll; And waste its sweetness ou the desert air.

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"How .iocund did they drive their team afield."

Chill penury repressed their noble rage, Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,

And froze the genial current of the soul. The little tyrant of his lields withstood,

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"Some villa«e Hampden, that with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant ot his field withstood."

Full many a gem of purest ray serene Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

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Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Another came; nor yet beside the rill,

Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

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