Ingratitude, How Deadly Is Thy Smart Proceeding From The Form We Fondly Love! How Light, Compared, All Other Sorrows Prove! Thou Shed'St A Night Of Woe, From Whence Depart The Gentle Beams Of Patience, That The Heart 'Mid Lesser Ills, Illume. - Thy Victims Rove Unquiet As The Ghost That Haunts The Grove Where Murder Spilt The Life-Blood. - O! Thy Dart Kills More Than Life, - E'En All That Makes Life Dear; Till We "The Sensible Of Pain" Wou'D Change For Phrenzy, That Defies The Bitter Tear; Or Wish, In Kindred Callousness, To Range Where Moon-Ey'D Idiocy, With Fallen Lip, Drags The Loose Knee, And Intermitting Step. July 1773.