See the rivers how they run

So little distant dangers seem: So we mistake the future's face, Ey'd thro' hope's deluding glass: As yon summits soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air, Which to those who journey near,

Disparting towers, Tumbling all precipitate down-dashed, Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon.

While the wanton Zephyr sings, And in the vale perfumes his wings.

Ever charming, ever new, When will the landskip tire the view?

A little rule, a little sway, A sun beam in a winter’s day, Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave.

The solitary, silent, solemn scene, Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie, Blended in dust together; where the slave Rests from his labours; where the insulting proud Resigns his power; the miser drops his hoard; Where human folly …