Chapter I

My wish were this; or never to be born,
Or to descend from generous sires, and share
The blessings which attend a wealthy heir.
If heaviest woes assail, ne’er left forlorn
Without a friend are they of nobler race,
Hereditary trophies deck their head:
The records of the brave with joy we trace,
No distant age their memory can efface,
For virtue’s torch unquenched pours radiance o’er the dead.