Aromatic plants bestow no spicy fragrance while they grow; but crush'd or trodden to the ground, diffuse their balmy sweets around.
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labor with an age of ease.
Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, adorns and cheers our way; and still, as darker grows the night, emits a brighter ray.
The hours we pass with happy prospects in view are more pleasing than those crowded with fruition.