INSCRIPTION UPON A MONUMENT. BY THE SAME. HOW soon with nimble wings our pleasures haste, And clouds involve the sunshine of the day! The wintry storms howl o'er the dreary waste, And fairest things tend swiftest to decay. In dark oblivion all our glory ends; This morn we flourish, and the next we fade. Time lifts his sweeping scythe: the pile descends Where vain Ambition all her toils display'd; The work of nations, and the pomp of power Sink: the once lofty spire, the dome's proud state: The dust receives them at the destin'd hour, And mighty kingdoms feel the force of Fate. Fall, vain Ambition's pile, and lofty spires, But spare, stern Fate, the youthful and the gay; Soft pity sure such innocence requires; And so much beauty well might Death delay.