But what torments of grief you endured
From evils which never arrived!



NATURE.


Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold,
And trains us on to slight the new, as if it were the old:
But blest is he, who, playing deep, yet haply asks not why,
Too busied with the crowded hour to fear to live or die.



FATE.


Her planted eye to-day controls,
Is in the morrow most at home,
And sternly calls to being souls
That curse her when they come.



HOROSCOPE.


Ere he was born, the stars of fate
Plotted to make him rich and great: