IND AN C

A POEM.

IN SIX CANTOS.

BY WILLIAM CROW.

"Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me:
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where he vital breathes, there must be joy!"

THOMSON.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR LACKINGTON, ALLEN AND CO.
FINSBURY-SQUARE,

1806.

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 684641

R

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS 1915

L

R. WILKS, PRINTER, CHANCERY-LANE.