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Summer ebbs; each day that follows
Tending to the darksome hollows
He who governs the creation,
Yet we mark it not; fruits redden,
Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden !
Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber, Fix thy thoughts upon the sea
That absorbs time, space, and number; Look towards Eternity!
Follow thou the flowing river
On whose breast are thither borne
Through the year's successive portals; Through the bounds which many a star Marks, not mindless of frail mortals, When his light returns from far.
Thus when thou with Time hast travelled
With thy best imaginings;
Think, if thou on beauty leanest,
Duty, like a strict preceptor,
Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown;
Choose her thistle for thy sceptre,
Grasp it,—if thou shrink and tremble,
And ensures those palms of honour