Life. an Ode

Life! the dear precarious boon! Soon we lose, alas! how soon! Fleeting vision, falsely gay! Grasp'd in vain, it fades away, Mixing with surrounding shades, Lovely vision! how it fades! Let the muse, in fancy's glass, Catch the phantoms as they pass: See they rise! a nymph behold Careless, wanton, young and bold; Mark her devious, hasty pace, Antic dress, and thoughtless face, Smiling cheeks, and roving eyes, Causeless mirth, and vain surprize— Tripping at her side, a boy Shares her wonder, and her joy; This is Folly, Childhood's guide, This is Childhood at her side. What is he succeeding now, Myrtles blooming on his brow, Bright, and blushing, as the morn, Not on earth a mortal born? Shafts, to pierce the strong I view, Wings, the flying to pursue; Victim of his power, behind Stalks a slave of human kind, Whose disdain of all the free Speaks his mind's captivity. Love's the tyrant, Youth the slave, Youth in vain is wise or brave; Love with conscious pride defies All the brave, and all the wise. Who art thou with anxious mien Stealing o'er the shifting scene? Eyes, with tedious vigils red, Sighs, by doubts and wishes bred, Cautious step, and glancing leer, Speak thy woes, and speak thy fear; Arm in arm, what wretch is he Like thyself, who walks with thee? Like thy own his fears and woes, All thy pangs his bosom knows: Well, too well! my boding breast Knows the names your looks suggest, Anxious, busy, restless pair! Manhood, link'd by fate to Care. Wretched state! and yet 'tis dear— Fancy, close the prospect here! Close it, or recall the past, Spare my eyes, my heart, the last. Vain the wish! the last appears, While I gaze it swims in tears; Age—my future self—I trace Moving slow with feeble pace, Bending with disease and cares, All the load of life he bears; White his locks, his visage wan, Strength, and ease, and hope are gone. Death, the shadowy form I know! Death o'ertakes him, dreadful foe! Swift they vanish—mournful sight, Night succeeds, impervious night! What these dreadful glooms conceal Fancy's glass can ne'er reveal; When shall time the veil remove? When shall light the scene improve? When shall truth my doubts dispell? Awful period! who can tell?