Tho’ fortune lowly bows my neck,
And cares not for the wretch’s groan,—
Yet smile but Hope, or Fancy beck,
And I’ll ascend her star-built throne.
Now, now, I mount! Behold me rise!
Hope lends me strength, and Fancy wings,
Oh! listen to the magic lies,
Which fleeting, faithless Fancy sings!
With Independence truly blest,
Of some neat cot she styles me lord,