Vain, Very Vain, My Weary

Man Wants But Little Here Below, Nor Wants That Little Long.

Where'er I Roam, Whatever Realms To See, My Heart Untravelled, Fondly Turns To Thee; Still To My Brother Turns, With Ceaseless Pain, And Drags At Each Remove A Lengthening Chain.

Careless Their Merits Or Their Faults To Scan, His Pity Gave Ere Charity Began. Thus To Relieve The Wretched Was His Pride, And Even His Failings Lean'd To Virtue's Side.

Near Yonder Thorn, That Lifts Its Head On High, Where Once The Sign-post Caught The Passing Eye, Low Lies That House Where Nut-brown Draughts Inspired, Where Graybeard Mirth And Smiling Toil Retired, Where Village Statesmen Talk'd With Looks Profound, And News Much Older Than Their Ale Went Round.

Ridicule Has Even Been The Most Powerful Enemy Of Enthusiasm, And Properly The Only Antagonist That Can Be Opposed To It With Success.