The Loud Laugh That Spoke The Vacant

Well Had The Boding Tremblers Learned To Trace The Day's Disasters In His Morning Face.

Here Let Me Sit In Sorrow For Mankind.

I Fancy The Character Of A Poet Is In Every Country The Same,--fond Of Enjoying The Present, Careless Of The Future; His Conversation That Of A Man Of Sense, His Actions Those Of A Fool.

Alike All Ages. Dames Of Ancient Days Have Led Their Children Through The Mirthful Maze, And The Gay Grandsire, Skill'd In Gestic Lore, Has Frisk'd Beneath The Burden Of Threescore.

Such Is The Patriot's Boast, Where'er We Roam, His First Best Country Ever Is At Home.