I gaz'd on grandeur's gay career,
Alone distracted and aggriev'd;
None stopp'd to wipe my bitter tear,
My bursting heart unnotic'd heav'd.
The happy hate to see distress,
It tells a tale they dread to know,
And guilt, tho' thron'd in mightiness,
In every victim sees a foe.
Where does the pamper'd worldling go?
To those who spread their banners brave--
Lonely and sad, the house of woe
Is like the robber's mountain cave.
On life's sad annals if we dwell,
Do they not speak of trust betray'd;
Of merit rising to excel,
On which the canker envy prey'd;
Of youth by enterprise upstaid,
Till sad experience broke the spell;
And slighted age a ruin laid,
Fit only for the narrow cell?
Yet of the tortures that betide
A feeling heart, the worst are they
Which bid it never more confide
On those who were its earthly stay.
Once guided by religion's ray,
True as the sun they seem'd to move;
Now led by meteor-lights astray,
Estrang'd in honour and in love.
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