Though Time has silvered o'er thy honored head,
And left some traces on thy gallant form,
Upon thy soul no hoar-frost has he shed,
Nor chilled the heart that yet beats true and warm.
And he, in whom the glow of early feeling,
Youth's fire and...
Full thirty frosts since thou wert young
Have chill'd the wither'd grove,
Thou wretch! and hast thou liv'd so long,
Nor yet forgot to love?
Ye Sages! spite of your pretences
To wisdom, you must own
Your folly frequently commences
When you acknowledge none.
...