However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

They only babble who practise not reflection

O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.

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.

Heaven wills our happiness, allows our doom.

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.

We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault; How few themselves in that just mirror see!