And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.

Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name?

Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave, oh! leave the light of Hope behind! What though my winged hours of bliss have been Like angels visits, few …

Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shrieked-as Kosciusko fell!