Anne Kingsmill Finch, Countess of Winchilsea - All is Vanity (Chap.3) lyrics

A bolder Youth, grown capable of Arms, Bellona courts with her prevailing Charms; Bids the inchanting Trumpet sound,Loud as Triumph, soft as Love, Striking now the Poles above, Then descending from the Skies, Soften every falling Note; As the harmonious Lark that sings and flies, When near the Earth, contracts her narrow Throat, And warbles on the Ground: Shews the proud Steed, impatient of the Check, against the loudest Terrors Proof, Pawing the Valley with his steeled Hoof, With Lightning armed his Eyes, with Thunder clothed his Neck; Who on the the advanced Foe, (the Signal giving) Flies, like a rushing Storm by mighty Whirlwinds driving; Lays open the Records of Fame, No glorious Deed omits, no Man of mighty Name; Their Stratagems, their Tempers she will repeat, From Alexander's, (truly stiled the GREAT) From Cesar's on the World's Imperial Seat, To Turenne's Conduct, and to Conde's Heat. This done! and now the ambitious Youth disdains The safe, but harder labours of the Gown, the softer pleasures of the Courtly Town, the once loved rural Sports, and Chaces on the Plains; Does with the Soldier's Life the Garb a**ume, the gold Embroideries, and the graceful Plume; Walks haughty in a Coat of Scarlet Die,a Color well contrived to cheat the Eye, Where richer Blood, alas! may undistinguished lye. And oh! too near that wretched Fate attends; Hear it ye Parents, all ye weeping Friends! Thou fonder Maid! won by these gaudy Charms, (The destined Prize of his Victorious Arms) Now fainting Dye upon the mournful Sound, That speaks his hasty d**h, and paints the fatal Wound! Trail all your Pikes, dispirit every Drum, March in a slow Procession from afar, Ye silent, ye dejected Men of War! Be still the Hautboys, and the Flute be dumb! Display no more, in vain, the lofty Banner; For see! where on the Bier before ye lies the pale, the falling, the untimely Sacrifice to your mistaken Shrine, to your false Idol Honor!