Yet life's strong love intoxicates the soul,
And thirst of bliss inflames the fev'rous mind,
With eager draughts we drain the pois'nous bowl,
And in the dregs the cordial hope to find.
O heav'n! for this light end were mortals made,
And plac'd on earth, with happiness in view,
To catch with cheated grasp the flitting shade,
And with vain toil the fancied form pursue,
Then give their short-liv'd being to the wind,
As the wing'd arrow flies, and leaves no track behind!