Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly rising o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.
The insect-youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, And float amid the liquid noon!
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