To Vario

Go, Vario, trace creation's ample round,
In search of happiness your cares employ;
And when the dear, important good is found,
Say is it permanent, or real joy?

If real, why, when distant pleasures rise,
Does glad expectance sparkle in your eye T
Say why, when near, the satisfaction flies,
And disappointment heaves the painful sigh?

Or grant your heart should all its wish possess,
How keen the fears of deprivation sting!
How can the present good have pow'r to bless,
Which hangs precarious on a moment's wing?

Be happy — what on earth! the thought how vain!
Earth cannot give a permanent delight;
As sure must fleeting pleasure yield to pain,
As day retreats before approaching night.

Yet is not heav'n unkind, which shades with woe
The chequer'd scene, to bid our wishes rise;
Could real, lasting bliss be found below,
Why should we seek for mansions in the skies?