Who, led by wicked fiends, should dare
To join the shadowy troops of death!
260
Yes, I have felt all man can feel,
Till he shall pay his nature's debt:
Ills that no hope has strength to heal,
No mind the comfort to forget:
Whatever cares the heart can fret,
The spirits wear, the temper gall,
Wo, want, dread, anguish, all beset