Page:The Emigrants.pdf/31



Was wrung from plunder'd myriads, by the means Too often legaliz'd by power abus'd, Feel all the horrors of the fatal change, When their ephemeral greatness, marr'd at once (As a vain toy that Fortune's childish hand Equally joy'd to fashion or to crush), Leaves them expos'd to universal scorn For having nothing else; not even the claim To honour, which respect for Heroes past Allows to ancient titles; Men, like these, Sink even beneath the level, whence base arts Alone had rais'd them;­—­unlamented sink, And know that they deserve the woes they feel. Poor wand'ring wretches! whosoe'er ye are, That hopeless, houseless, friendless, travel wide O'er these bleak russet downs; where, dimly seen,