Even every ray of hope destroyed and not a wish to gild the gloom.
How wretched is the person who hangs on by the favors of the powerful.
Here's to us, who's like us Damn few, and they're all dead.
The trout in yonder wimpling burn - That glides, a silver dart, - And, safe beneath the shady thorn, - Defies the anglers art.
'T is sweeter for thee despairing Than aught in the world beside,-Jessy!
Learn taciturnity and let that be your motto!