Page:The Emigrants.pdf/63



And evils such as these, or yet more dire, Which the pain'd mind recoils from, all are thine­­— The purple Pestilence, that to the grave Sends whom the sword has spar'd, is thine; and thine The Widow's anguish and the Orphan's tears!­— Woes such as these does Man inflict on Man; And by the closet murderers, whom we style Wise Politicians; are the schemes prepar'd, Which, to keep Europe's wavering balance even, Depopulate her kingdoms, and consign To tears and anguish half a bleeding world!­— Oh! could the time return, when thoughts like these Spoil'd not that gay delight, which vernal Suns, Illuminating hills, and woods, and fields, Gave to my infant spirits­—­Memory come! And from distracting cares, that now deprive