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 |