ly entered every agreeable circumstance in that excellent book of the mind, the memory; how much wiser, how much happier than those, who, forgetful of every blessing they have received, hang on the vain and deceitful hand of hope, and while they are idly grasping at future acquisitions, neglect the enjoyment of the present. Though the future gifts of fortune are not in their power, and though their present possessions are not in the power of fortune, they look up to the former and neglect the latter. Their punishment, however, is not less just than it is certain. Before philosophy and the cultivation of reason have laid a proper foundation for the management of wealth and power, they pursue them with that avidity which must for ever harass an undisciplined mind.
As flowers, too bright, too sweet to last, Drop all their leaves at Winter's blast, So all my hopes have past away, As short-lived, sweet, and fair as they. But flowers return with genial spring, More bright, more fair, more flourishing. My joys, alas ! shall never more return,
Stern Winter still remains, And I am ever doom'd in hapless grief to mourn.
