POEMS. fal THE AGES. I. WHEN to the common rest that crowns our days, Called in the noon of life, the good man goes, Or full of years, and ripe in wisdom, lays When, o'er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows, We think on what they were, with many fears 2 Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years. II. And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by,- |