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Relentless Time ! that steals with silent tread, 
Shall tear away the trophies of the dead. 
Fame, on the pyramid's aspiring top, 
\Yith sighs shall her recording trumpet drop ; 
The feeble characters of Glory's hand 
Shall perish, like the tracks upon the sand ; 
But not with these expire the sacred flame 
Of virtue, or the good man's awful name. 
Bowles. 
Time ! who know'st a lenient hand to lay 
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence 
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) 
The faint pang stealest unperceived away ; 
On thee I rest my only hope at last, 
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear 
That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, 
1 may look back on every sorrow past. 
And meet life's peaceful evening vsdth a smile — 
As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, 
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower 
Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while: — 
Yet ah ! how much must that poor heart endure. 
Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure ! 
Bowles, 
