I.

Of chance or change, O let not man complain, Else shall he never never cease to wail: For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale; Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed; Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale; And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed; And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloomed.