Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . Less base the fear of death than fear of life. O Britain! infamous for suicide.

Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.

Less base the fear of death than fear of life.

Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.

Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.

'T is impious in a good man to be sad.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.