HAIL, chastening friend, Adversity! ’tis thine
The mental ore to temper and refine;
To cast in Virtue's mould the yielding heart,
And Honour's polish to the mind impart.

Without thy wakening touch, thy plastic aid,
I'd lain the shapeless mass that Nature made;
But formed, great artist, by thy magic hand,
I gleam a sword, to conquer and command.