by turns in s heav'n, or vaulted hell.
i dread thee, fate, relentless and severe,
with all a poet's, husband's, father's fear!
already orong hold of hope is lost—
glen, the truly noble, lies in dust
(fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears,
a us darkling in a world of tears);
o! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r!
fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare!
thro' a long life his hopes and wishes ,
and bright in cloudless skies his sun go down!
may bliss domestic smooth his private path;
give energy to life; and soothe his
Second Epistle To Robert Graham, ESQ., Of Fintry(7/8)