Low on the earth, by anguish crush'd, I lay —
I mourn'd the night, nor hail'd the coming day,
When bright  tipp'd the Eastern skies,
Hearts bless'd with plenty bade the Goddess rise;
Not so with me — to Misery resign'd,
On her cold lap my wretched head reclin'd;
Around, grim horrors take their ghastly stand,
And Famine executes her dire command,
Nor once relents; — the tear reluctant flows,
Not for my own, but for my infants' woes:
The Stoic's sullen gloom had fill'd my soul,
Forbad the sigh, and check'd the tears that roll;
Ev'n smiling Hope, soft soother of the mind,
Like  Guardian Angel, had resign'd
Her charge as lost; homeward to Heaven she flies,
And grim Despair, and all her furies rise;
O, dismal Fiend! to thee I give the world,
From all its joys, and shadowy visions hurl'd;
The contest o'er, eternal worlds are mine,
Where ransom'd spirits taste repose divine.