Pallida Mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Regumque turres.--HORACE. Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door Of royal halls and hovels of the poor. WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run The Nen's barge-laden wave, All these, life's rambling journey done, Have found their home, the grave. Was man (frail always) made more frail Than in foregoing years? Did famine or did plague prevail, That so much death appears? No: these were vigorous as their sires, Nor plague nor famine came; This annual tribute Death requires, And never waives his claim. Like crowded forest-trees we stand, And some are marked to fall; The axe will smite at God's command, And soon shall smite us all. Green as the bay-tree, ever green, With its new foliage on, The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen; I passed--and they were gone. Read, ye that run, the awful truth With which I charge my page; A worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age. No present health can health ensure For yet an hour to come; No medicine, though it oft can cure, Can always balk the tomb. And oh! that humble as my lot, And scorned as is my strain, These truths, though known, too much forgot, I may not teach in vain. So prays your Clerk with all his heart, And ere he quits the pen, Begs you for once to take his part, And answer all--"Amen!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAUS VENERIS by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE VOICE IN THE GLOAMING by WILLIAM ALLAN MYSTERY: 1 by ANNE MILLAY BREMER A SICK-BED by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT HOW THE DAUGHTERS CAME DOWN AT DUNOON by HENRY CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL THE LITTLE TREE by OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN CASEAR BORGIA, SON OF POPE ALEXANDER THE SIXTH: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN TO ADOLF WILBRANDT ON HIS SEVENTIETH ANNIVERSARY by LUDWIG FULDA |