Oh! turn, and seek some sheltering kind retreat;
Bleak howls the wind, and deadly is the dew:
No pitying star, to guide thy weary feet,
Breaks thro’ the void of darkness on thy view.
Think on the dangers that attend thy way!
The gulf deep-yawning, and the treacherous flood;
The midnight ruffian, prowling for his prey,
Fiend of despair, and darkness, grim with blood!
But oh! if thoughts terrific fail to move,
Let Pity win thee back to thine above;