O form'd t' illume a sunless world forlorn,
       &nbspAs o'er the chill and dusky brow of Night,
       &nbspIn Finland's wintry skies the Mimic Morn
Electric pours a stream of rosy light,

Pleas'd I have mark'd Oppression, terror-pale,
       &nbspSince, thro' the windings of her dark machine,
       &nbspThy steady eye has shot its glances keen—
And bade th' All-lovely 'scenes at distance hail'.

Nor will I not thy holy guidance bless,
       &nbspAnd hymn thee, Godwin! with an ardent lay;
       &nbspFor that thy voice, in Passion's stormy day,
When wild I roam'd the bleak Heath of Distress,

Bade the bright form of Justice meet my way—
And told me that her name was Happiness.