As To Posterity, I May Ask What

Bright-eyed Fancy, Hov'ring O'er, Scatters From Her Pictured Urn Thoughts That Breathe And Words That Burn.

To Contemplation's Sober Eye. / Such Is The Race Of Man.

To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance Their Many-twinkling Feet.

From Helicon's Harmonious Springs A Thousand Rills Their Mazy Progress Take.

O'er Her Warm Cheek, And Rising Bosom, Move The Bloom Of Young Desire And Purple Light Of Love.