II.
Is there who views with cold unalter’d mien,
His frozen heart with proud indifference fraught,
Each sacred haunt, each unforgotten scene,
Where Freedom triumph’d, or where Wisdom taught?
Souls that too deeply feel! oh, envy not
The sullen calm your fate hath never known:
Through the dull twilight of that wintery lot
Genius ne’er pierced, nor Fancy’s sunbeam shone,
Nor those high thoughts that, hailing Glory’s trace,
Glow with the generous flames of every age and race.