A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isle. XXI. O Thou! who pour'd the patriotic tide heart; Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 0 never, never, Scotia's realm desert: But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! MAN MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. A DIRGE. I. WHEN chill November's surly blast I spy'd a man, whose aged step Seem'd weary, worn with care; His face was furrow'd o'er with years, And hoary was his hair. II. Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou? Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or haply, prest with cares and woes, To wander forth, with me, to mourn The miseries of man? III. The sun that overhangs yon moors, IV. O man! while in thy early years, Mis-spending all thy precious hours; Thy glorious youthful prime! Alternate Alternate follies take the sway; Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, V. Look not alone on youthful prime, But see him on the edge of life, Then age and want, Oh! ill-match'd pair! VI. A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap carest; Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest But, Oh! what crowds in every land, Are wretched and forlorn ; Thro' weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn, VII. Many and sharp the num'rous ills More pointed still we make ourselves, And man, whose heav'n-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn! VIII. See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, To give him leave to toil; IX. If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave- Why was an independent wish |