10 THE VISITANT.

Whatever thou art, how sad thy fate ;

With wasted strength the goal to spy, Cling feebly to the flapping sail,

And at a stranger s feet to die.

��or

��For thee the widowed mate shall gaze From leafy chamber curtained fair ;

And, wailing lays at evening s close, Lament thy loss in deep despair.

Even thus, o er life s unresting tide, Chilled by the billow s beating spray,

Some adventitious prize to gain, Ambition s votaries urge their way ;

Some eyrie on the Alpine cliff,

Some proud Mont-Blanc they fain would climb , Snatch wreaths of laurel steeped in gore,

Or win from Fame a strain sublime ;

They lose of home the heartfelt joys,

The charm of seasons as they roll, And stake, amid their blinding course,

The priceless birthright of the soul :

Years fleet, and still they struggle on, Their dim eye rolls with fading fire,

Perchance the long-sought treasure grasp, Taste the brief victory, and expire.

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