IV.

Albeit, how like young Betty doth he flee! Light as the mote that danceth in the beam, He liveth only in man's present e'e, His life a flash, his memory a dream, Oblivious down he drops in Lethe's stream. Yet what are they, the learned and the great? Awhile of longer wonderment the theme, Who shall presume to prophesy _their_ date, Where nought is certain, save the uncertainty of fate?