Or, haply, pressed with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began

To wander forth, with me, to mourn
The miseries of man!

'The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride-
I've seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proofs
That man was made to mourn.

'O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the

sway,

Licentious passions burn;

Which tenfold force gives Nature's law,
That man was made to mourn.

'Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might;

Man then is useful to his kind,

Supported is his right:

But see him on the edge of life,

With cares and sorrows worn,

Then age and want-oh, ill-matched pair!Show man was made to mourn.

'A few seem favourites of fate,

In Pleasure's lap caressed;

Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.

But, oh! what crowds in every land, Are wretched and forlorn!

Through weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn.

'Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Inwoven with our frame;

More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man

Makes countless thousands mourn!

'See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.

'If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,
By Nature's law designed,
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?

If not, why am I subject to

His cruelty or scorn?

Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn?

'Yet let not this too much, my son,

Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of humankind Is surely not the best!

The poor, oppressèd, honest man,
Had never, sure, been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn.

'O Death! the poor man's dearest friendThe kindest and the best!

Welcome the hour my agèd limbs

Are laid with thee at rest!

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn;

But, oh! a blest relief to those
That weary-laden mourn!'

TO RUIN.

ALL hail! inexorable lord!
At whose destruction-breathing word
The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of grief and pain,
A sullen welcome, all!

With stern-resolved, despairing eye,
I see each aimèd dart;

For one has cut my dearest tie,

And quivers in my heart.

Then lowering and pouring,

The storm no more I dread;
Though thickening, and blackening,
Round my devoted head.

And thou grim power, by life abhorred,
While life a pleasure can afford,

Oh, hear a wretch's prayer!
No more I shrink appalled, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,
To close this scene of care!

When shall my soul, in silent peace,
Resign life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbing cease,
Cold mould'ring in the clay?

No fear more, no tear more,

To stain my lifeless face:
Enclasped, and graspèd
Within thy cold embrace!

THE LAMENT.

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A
FRIEND'S AMOUR.

O THOU pale orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines,
And wanders here to wail and weep!
With woe I nightly vigils keep,

Beneath thy wan unwarming beam;
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.

I joyless view thy rays adorn
The faintly marked distant hill:
I joyless view thy trembling horn
Reflected in the gurgling rill,
My fondly fluttering heart, be still!

Thou busy power, Remembrance, cease!

Ah! must the agonizing thrill

For ever bar returning peace!

No idly feigned poetic pains,

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim;
No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:
The plighted faith; the mutual flame;
The oft attested Powers above;
The promised father's tender name;
These were the pledges of my love!

Encircled in her clasping arms,

How have the raptured moments flown! How have I wished for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it! is she gone,

My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost?

Oh! can she bear so base a heart,
So lost to honour, lost to truth,
As from the fondest lover part,

The plighted husband of her youth?
Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!

Her way may lie through rough distress! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less?

Ye winged hours that o'er us past,

Enraptured more, the more enjoyed, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly treasured thoughts employed. That breast, how dreary now, and void, For her too scanty once of room! E'en every ray of hope destroyed,

And not a wish to gild the gloom!