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the pursuit.
Nature's true spark, tho' languid, burns,
And the dim spirit world-ward turns!
Still, still we see earth's giddy race
All pushing on with eager pace,
The grave, the gay, the sage, the vain,
Some gilded trifle to obtain!
Various their aims, alike their toil;
Some seek an empire, some a smile,
Some ask for wealth, and some for fame,
And pant and labour for a name!
I smil'd to see the crowd pursue,
Yet felt the restless impulse too.
"Perchance," said I, "my anxious breast
Throbs for a bauble like the rest;
Friendship may prove an emptier name
Than even power, or wealth, or fame—
But what of that! the doom is past,
And all must run to drop at last;
And the dim spirit world-ward turns!
Still, still we see earth's giddy race
All pushing on with eager pace,
The grave, the gay, the sage, the vain,
Some gilded trifle to obtain!
Various their aims, alike their toil;
Some seek an empire, some a smile,
Some ask for wealth, and some for fame,
And pant and labour for a name!
I smil'd to see the crowd pursue,
Yet felt the restless impulse too.
"Perchance," said I, "my anxious breast
Throbs for a bauble like the rest;
Friendship may prove an emptier name
Than even power, or wealth, or fame—
But what of that! the doom is past,
And all must run to drop at last;
