To Contemplation's Sober Eye. / Such Is

Sorrow's Faded Form, And Solitude Behind.

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

Hell Is Full Of Good Intentions.

Gay Hope Is Theirs By Fancy Fed, Less Pleasing When Possest; The Tear Forgot As Soon As Shed, The Sunshine Of The Breast.

Rich With The Spoils Of Time.