Youth is light, and free from care
But now a burden on my head
Heavier than Ætna’s rock, old age, I bear.
Before these eyes its sable veil is spread.
Not for the wealth of Asiatic kings,
Or heaps of gold that touched yon roof sublime,
Ere would I barter life’s enchanting prime;
Hence wealth a brighter radiance flings,
And poverty itself can charm:
But thou, curst dotage, art the sum
Of every fancied, every real harm;
May’st thou be plunged beneath the deep, nor come
To peopled town, or civilized abode,
Go wing thy distant flight along th’ aërial road.