Gay Hope is theirs by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom Health, of rosy hue, Wild Wit, Invention ever new, And lively Cheer, of Vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light That fly th' approach of morn. Alas! regardless of their doom The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah shew them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high To bitter Scorn a sacrifice And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath A griesly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise! No more;--where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise. T. GRAY. 159. HYMN TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.