Such was my life’s deceitful morning,
     Such the pleasures I enjoyed: 
     But lang or noon, loud tempests storming
     A’ my flowery bliss destroy’d. 
     Tho’ fickle fortune has deceiv’d me—­
     She promis’d fair, and perform’d but ill,
     Of mony a joy and hope bereav’d me—­
     I bear a heart shall support me still.

Song—­In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer

     Tune—­“Go from my window, Love, do.”

     The sun he is sunk in the west,
     All creatures retired to rest,
     While here I sit, all sore beset,
     With sorrow, grief, and woe: 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

     The prosperous man is asleep,
     Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
     But Misery and I must watch
     The surly tempest blow: 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

     There lies the dear partner of my breast;
     Her cares for a moment at rest: 
     Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
     Thus brought so very low! 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

     There lie my sweet babies in her arms;
     No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
     But for their sake my heart does ache,
     With many a bitter throe: 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

     I once was by Fortune carest: 
     I once could relieve the distrest: 
     Now life’s poor support, hardly earn’d
     My fate will scarce bestow: 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

     No comfort, no comfort I have! 
     How welcome to me were the grave! 
     But then my wife and children dear—­
     O, wither would they go! 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

     O whither, O whither shall I turn! 
     All friendless, forsaken, forlorn! 
     For, in this world, Rest or Peace
     I never more shall know! 
     And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

Tragic Fragment

     All devil as I am—­a damned wretch,
     A hardened, stubborn, unrepenting villain,
     Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;
     And with sincere but unavailing sighs
     I view the helpless children of distress: 
     With tears indignant I behold the oppressor
     Rejoicing in the honest man’s destruction,
     Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.—­
     Ev’n you, ye hapless crew!  I pity you;
     Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity;
     Ye poor, despised, abandoned vagabonds,
     Whom Vice, as usual, has turn’d o’er to ruin. 
     Oh! but for friends and interposing Heaven,
     I had been driven forth like you forlorn,
     The most detested, worthless wretch among you! 
     O injured God!  Thy goodness has endow’d me
     With talents passing most of my compeers,
     Which I in just proportion have abused—­
     As far surpassing other common villains
     As Thou in natural parts has given me more.