Note 6 — Chapter VII

Ye fair ones that, with agile bound, Dance o'er this turf in frolick round, Whose tender flowers scarce bend their head, Beneath your footstep's airy tread; Like you I once, with sportive mien, Join'd laughing Pleasure's joyous train: Then life and all its hopes were new, And love its brightest visions drew: Those joys are past—the vision's flown: What now remains?—The tomb alone.