242 Jar. 
Relentless Time! that steals with silent tread, 
Shall tear away the trophies of the dead. 
Fame, on the pyramid’s aspiring top, 
With 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. 
0 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, 
I may look back on every sorrow past, 
And meet life’s peaceful evening with 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. 
