Роберт Андерсон (Robert Anderson)

Lines, Written in Carrickfergus Jail

Many a tyrant, many a slave,
Pander, prostitute, and knave,
Coward base, and patriot brave,
Come trembling here;
Genius, idiot, dunce, and wit,
Men for this wild world unfit,
Sighing, thinking, starving sit
And drop a tear.

Here, perchance, some noble mind,
Amidst the dregs of human kind,
Roams states ideal, unconfin'd,
In misery--
Ev'n monarchs of our earthly ball,
With princes, prelates at their call,
What are they?--Wretched pris'ners all!
Whom death sets free! 

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