While I, in wishes impotent and vain,
For Liberty, dear object of my hopes,
The tedious moments spend; or if, perchance,
Morpheus invok’d, my heavy eye-lids close,
Dear Liberty still haunts my sleeping thoughts,
And in a short-liv’d dream those joys I taste,
Which waking are denied; and beat the hoop
With dextrous hand, or run with feet as swift
As feather’d arrow flies from archer’s bow:
Till, from my slumber wak’d, too soon I find