1 Tired with the busy crowds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame. 2 Hail, kind reviver! that canst lull the cares, And every weary sense compose to rest, Lighten the oppressive load which anguish bears, And warm with hope the cold desponding breast. 3 Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown; And on the cold earth stretch'd, the son of Woe Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied crown. 4 When roused by thee, on boundless pinions borne, Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove, Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn, Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove; 5 Or skims the main, and listens to the storms, Marks the long waves roll far remote away; Or, mingling with ten thousand glittering forms, Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day. 6 Haply, ere long, pierced by the howling blast, Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam, Plunge down the unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb: 7 Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale, Where Mirth's light freaks the unheeded hours beguile, And airs of rapture warble in the gale. 8 Instructive emblem of this mortal state! Where scenes as various every hour arise In swift succession, which the hand of Fate Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes. 9 Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, Thy boasted grandeur and thy glittering store: Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys; Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more. 10 And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Of angry Fortune overhang awhile, Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile. 11 Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn, 'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife; But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, When Death awakes us to immortal life.