Classic Poem

The melted snow the verdure now restores,
And leaves adorn the trees;
The season shifts — subsiding to their shores
The rivers flow with ease.
The Grace, with nymphs and with her sisters twain,
Tho' naked dares the dance —
That here's no permanence the years explain,
And days, as they advance.
The air grows mild with zephyrs, as the spring
To summer cedes the sway,
Which flies when autumn hastes his fruits to bring,
Then winter comes in play.
The moons their heav'nly damages supply —
Not so the mortal star —
Where good Eneas, Tullus, Ancus lie,
Ashes and dust we are.
Who knows if heav'n will give to-morrow's boon
To this our daily pray'r?
The goods you take to keep your soul in tune,
Shall scape your greedy heir.
When you shall die, tho' Minos must acquit
A part so nobly play'd;
Race, eloquence, and goodness, from the pit
Cannot restore your shade.
For nor Diana's heav'nly pow'r or love,
Hippolytus revives;
Nor Theseus can Perithous remove
From his Lethean gives.