This page has been validated.
[ 16 ]
Voice of Intemperance
I rove through the city Or prowl on the plain,And boast of the innocent Victims I've slain;
Of my widows and orphans, The tears they have shed;Of desolate hovels, And hearts that have bled;
Of minds once enlightened, In the ranks of the brave;Of the fate of the monarch, Or the death of the slave.
When I ride on the ocean Or sail on the lake,I mark down the millions That follow my wake.
