Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No fenfe have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day; Yet fee how all around 'em wait The Minifters of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train ! Ah fhew them where in ambush stand To feize their prey the murth'rous band! Thefe fhall the fury Paffions tear, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that fculks behind ; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, That That inly gnaws the fecret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Ambition this fhall tempt to rife, And grinning Infamy. The ftings of Falfhood those shall try, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; And keen Remorfe with blood defil'd,` And moody Madness * laughing wild Amid fevereft woe. Lo, Madness laughing in his ireful mood., Lo, in the vale of years beneath A grily troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the foul with icy hand, To each his fuff'rings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan, |