Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.

While Memory watches o'er the sad review
Of joys that faded like the morning dew.

But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind.

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone,
That never mused on sorrow but its own.

To bear is to conquer our fate.