The fragile flowerets of the plain
Can rival human triumphs vain.
I liken to a floweret's fate
The fleeting joys of mortal state;
The flower so glorious seen to-day
To-morrow dying fades away;
An end has soon the flowery clan,
And soon arrives the end of man;
The fairest floweret, ever known,
Would fade when cheerful summer's flown;
Then hither haste, ere turns the wheel!
Old age doth on these flowers steal;
Though pass'd two-thirds of Autumn-time,
Of summer temperature's the clime;
The garden shows no sickliness,
The weather old age vanquishes,
The leaves are greenly glorious still--
But friend! grow old they must and will.
The rose, at edge of winter now,
Doth fade with all its summer glow;
Old are become the roses all,
Decline to age we also shall;
And with this prayer I'll end my lay,
Amen, with me, O Parry say;
To us be rest from all annoy,
And a robust old age of joy;
May we, ere pangs of death we know,
Back to our native Mona go;
May pleasant days us there await,
United and inseparate!
And the dread hour, when God shall please
To bid our mutual journey cease,
May Christ, who reigns in heaven above,
Receive us to his breast of love!
THE RISING OF ACHILLES.
From the Iliad.
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