'Twas but as flowerets o'er a tomb.
Which only hide the woe beneath.
I lose no portion of my woes,
Although my tears in secret flow;
More green and fresh the verdure grows,
Where the cold streams run hid below.


A MODEST ODE TO FORTUNE.

"_Et genus et formam regina pecunia donat_." HOR.

O Goddess Fortune, hear my prayer,
And make a bard for once thy care!
I do not ask, in houses splendid,
To be by liveried slaves attended;
I ask not for estates, nor land,
Nor host of vassals at command;
I ask not for a handsome wife--
Though I dislike a single life;
I ask not friends, nor fame, nor power,
Nor courtly rank, nor leisure's hour;
I ask not books, nor wine, nor plate.
Nor yet acquaintance with the great;
Nor dance, nor sons, nor mirth, nor jest,
Nor treasures of the East or West;
I ask not beauty, wit, nor ease,
Nor qualities more blest than these--
Learning nor genius, skill nor art,
Nor valour for the hero's part;