darted from his couch, And stopped the othe

Yself outliv'd: Almost an age thou hast surviv'd: Some who their day
had scarce begun. Others beneath their noon-tide sun-- Time's deepest
lines engrave thy brow, And dost

thou hesitate to go? Idiot,

what warning would'st thou have? One foot already in the grave: Sight,
hearing, feeling, day by day, Sunk gradual
in a long decay. I blame myself for my neglect; Thou'st not a moment to
expect!"
When failing nature warns, the sage Sees death a refuge from old age;
And rising from life's lengthened feast, Willing retires, a sated
guest. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE PAINTER. When candid critics
deign to blame Their index points the road to fame, But when dull fools
your works admire, Throw them at once into the fire. In Rome there
dwelt, in days of yore, A painter deep in graphic lore. His
touch was firm, his outline true, And every rule full well he
knew. A Mars he pai