Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.