And now, led on by sad despair,
Does a frightful form obtrude;
Vindictive Spleen assumes the air
Of noble, manly Fortitude.

And thus I hear the Demon say,
'Let us not abuse our trust;
'We must not be led away
'For mercy's sake, to be unjust.'

Yet he'll profess no wrath to feel
'Gainst such a hapless wretch as I;
No! ... but for the public weal,
'Tis expedient that I die.

And this his judgment once made known,
Self-love and self-conceit's so strong,
He'll rather let me die than own
That his opinion could be wrong.

Ye who the lore of distant climes
Canvass, latent truth to find;
Who hail our philosophic times,
And Man's emancipated mind:

Oh! ye who boast the enlighten'd age,
Who boast your right of thinking free ...
If e'er ye learn the lessons sage,
Taught in affliction's school like me,