235
You tell me that those days of dread,
That fill the heart with pain,
Will be remember'd like the shade,
That ne'er returns again.
But if a more extended space,
Than I on earth have known,
Should leave so light, so faint a trace
As scarcely to be shown;
Oh, what is life? Let wisdom meek
Return the slow reply,
Say, what is life? To move, to speak,
To look around—and die.
THE RAINBOW.
THE glowing arch, that crowns the passing storm,
And sooths the angry thunders as they rise,
Lifts o'er the watry cloud its lovely form,
