There is a kindly mood of melancholy

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,

See the rivers how they run Thro' woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep!

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

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

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.

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