UNDER
AN
HOUR-GLASS
,
IN
A
GROTTO
NEAR
THE
WATER
AT
CLAVERTON
.
BY
THE
SAME
.
THIS
bubbling
stream
not
uninstructive
flows
,
Nor
idly
loiters
to
its
destin'd
main
,
Each
flower
it
feeds
that
on
its
margin
grows
,
And
bids
thee
blush
,
whose
days
are
spent
in
vain
.
Nor
void
of
moral
,
tho'
unheeded
,
glides
Time's
current
stealing
on
with
silent
haste
;
For
lo
!
each
falling
sand
his
folly
chides
,
Who
lets
one
precious
moment
run
to
waste
.