The Applause Of List'ning Senates To Command,

Hands That The Rod Of Empire Might Have Sway'd, Or Waked To Ecstasy The Living Lyre.

Nor Grandeur Hear With A Disdainful Smile The Short And Simple Annals Of The Poor.

Ah, Happy Hills! Ah, Pleasing Shade! Ah, Fields Beloved In Vain! Where Once My Careless Childhood Stray'd, A Stranger Yet To Pain! I Feel The Gales That From Ye Blow A Momentary Bliss Bestow.

Some Bold Adventurers Disdain The Limits Of Their Little Reign, And Unknown Regions Date Descry.

No Further Seek His Merits To Disclose, Or Draw His Frailties From Their Dread Abode (there They Alike In Trembling Hope Repose), The Bosom Of His Father And His God.