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Show THE POET'S NICHE. Man' Mortality. The following poem is considered a literary gem. The original is found in an Irish MS. in Trinity college, Dublin. Tuere is reason to thirk that the poem was written by one of those primitive prim-itive Christian bards in the reifrn of King iJiarmid about the year 554, and v, as sung or chanted at the last grandaesembly of k.nirs, cii.eftains and brds ever held in the' famous nail of Tara. The tiauslation is by the learned Dr. Douovau.J Like a damask rose yon see, Or like a blossom ou a tree, Or l.ke a daiuty nouer in iay, Or like the morning t the day, Or like the sun, or Iiko the shade, Or like the gourd w hich Jonah had, Even such is man, whofe thread is spun, Drawn out ami out and so is done. The rose withers, the biossom blasteth, The ilower fad.-s, the morning uasteth, The sua sets, the shadow ilit s, The gmrd consumes, tue man he dies. Like the. frrass that's newly spiung, Or like the tale that's new begun, Or like th ? bird that's lu-re toi:ay, Or like ti e peamd dew in Alay, Or likti U uour. or like a span, Or like tne singing of a swau, Even such is man, who lives tiy breath, lb here, now theie, in lite or Ueatu. 1 he grass w.tners, the tale is ended. The oird is flown, the dew's ascended, The hour is short, the span not iong, The swan's near death, man's life is done. Like the bubble In the brook, Or in a glass much use a look, or like a shuttle 111 the weaver hind, Or like the writing on the sand. Or like a thought, or like a oream, Or like the jcliaiug of tne stream, .even sucu is nia.i, who lives by ureath, Is here, now there, in life an J death. The bubble's oul, ihe .ook forgot, The hhnfr.ie's Hun?, the writniL' s blot. Tne thought is past, the dream is goue, '1 tie waters gliae, man's life is done. Like to an arrow from the bow, r like swift coure of water how, Or like that time "twiit flood and ebb, Or like the spider s tender webb. Or like a race or liKe a goal, Or like the dealing of a uole, Even such is niau. whose rittlo state Is always subject ui.to fate. I ne arrow's shot, the flood soon spent, The tiitie no time, the web soon rent, Trie raie is run, tue goal sou won, The dole soon ue-ut, man's life soon done. Like to the lightning in the sky, Or like a post that qui :k doth me, , Or like a quaver iu u oi:g. Or lite a journey three uay's long. Or lin.e snow when summer's come, Or l.ke a pear or iik a plum, .even such is man, who neaps u; sorrow, Lives hut this a;,y and dies tomorrow. 'J tie ligatn.ug s past, tiiepost mn?t go, The song is short, the journey so, The per doth riTttueplum dota fall, The enow dissolves, and so must ail. The poetical b'gend that the swan sings as it ie dying- |