Sweet solitude! when life's gay hours are past,
Howe'er we range, in thee we six at last;
Toss'd through tempestuous seas (the voyage o'er)
Pale we look back, and bless the friendly shore.
Our own strict judges, our past life we scan,
And ask if glory hath enlarg'd the span;
If bright the prospect, we the grave defy,
Trust future ages, and contented die.