Mankind are formed with different souls:
Some will be suited near the poles,
Some pleased beneath the scorching line,
And some, New Scotland, will be thine.
Yet, in due time, my plastic hand
Shall mould it o'er, if you command;
By you I act—if you stand still
The world comes tumbling down the hill!"
Untouched—(said Jove)—remain the place!
In days to come I'll form a race,
Born to betray their country's cause,
And aid an alien monarch's laws.
When traitors to their country die,
To lands, like this, their phantoms fly;
But when the brave by death decay
The mind explores a different way.
Then, Nature, hold your aiding hand—
Let fogs and tempests chill the land;
While this degenerate work of thine
To knaves and knapsacks I resign.
[313] Text follows the edition of 1809.
EPISTLE TO SYLVIUS[314]
On the Folly of Writing Poetry
Of all the fools that haunt our coast
The scribbling tribe I pity most:
Their's is a standing scene of woes,
And their's no prospect of repose.