Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/385

 ���COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 247 �Which thine, or his Experience e'er have try'd, �Thou art, too tedious Muse, most frivolous and vain ; Yet, tell the Man, of an aspiring Thought, �Of an ambitious, restless Mind, That can no Ease, no Satisfaction find, Till neighb'ring States are to Subjection brought, �Till Universal Awe, enslav'd Mankind is taught; �That, should he lead an Army to the Field, 270 �For whose still necessary Use, Th' extended Earth cou'd not enough produce, Nor Rivers to their Thirst a full Contentment yield; Yet, must their dark Reverse of Fate Roll round, within that Course of Years, Within the short, the swift, and fleeting Date Prescrib'd by Xerxes, when his falling Tears Bewail'd those Numbers, which his Sword employ'd, �And false, Hyena-like, lamented and destroy 'd. �Tell Him, that does some stately Building raise, 280 �A Windsor or Versailles erect, And thorough all Posterity expect, �With its unsnaken Base, a firm unshaken Praise ; Tell Him, Judea's Temple is no more, Upon whose Splendour, Thousands heretofore �Spent the astonish' d Hours, forgetful to adore: Tell him, into the Earth agen is hurl'd, That most stupendious Wonder of the World, Justly presiding o'er the boasted Seven, By humane Art and Industry design'd, 290 �This! the rich Draught of the Immortal Mind, �The Architect of Heaven. Remember then, to fix thy Aim on High, Project, and build on t'other side the Sky, For, after all thy vain Expence below, Thou canst no Fame, no lasting Pleasure know; ��� �