188 CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. 



Their limbs are swoln, their bodies bent, 

 And worse, no noble sentiment 



Their darken'd minds pervade : 

 Feeble, and blemish' d by disease, 

 Nothing their marble hearts can please, 



But doings that degrade. 



Oh, hapless heirs of want and woe ! 

 What hope of comfort can they know ? 



Them man and law condemn : 

 They have no guides to lead them right, 

 Darkness they have not known from light, 



Heaven be a friend to them ! 



MARY HOWETT. 



MAN. 



Like as the damask rose you see, 



Or like the blossom on a tree, 



Or like the dainty flower in May, 



Or like the morning to the day, 



Or like the sun, or like the shade, 



Or like the gourd which Jonas had ; 



Even such is man, whose thread is spun, 



Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. 



The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, 

 The flower fades, the morning hasteth, 

 The sun sets, the shadow flies, 

 The gourd consumes, and man he dies. 



Like to the grass that's newly sprung, 



Or like a tale that's new begun, 



Or like a bird that's here to-day, 



Or like the pearled dew of May, 



Or like an hour, or like a span, 



Or like the singing of a swan ; 



Even such is man, who lives by breath, 



Is here, now there, in life and death. 

 The grass withers, the tale is ended, 

 The bird is flown, the dews ascended, 

 The hour is short, the span not long, 

 The swan's near death, man's life is done. 



