Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/124

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112

—Ah! soon, beneath the inevitable blow,I too shall lie in dust and darkness low.
Then Time, the Conqueror, will suspendHis scythe, a trophy, o'er my tomb,Whose moving shadow shall portendEach frail beholder's doom.O'er the wide earth's illumined space,Though Time's triumphant flight be shewn,The truest index on its facePoints from the church-yard stone.
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