A Heavy Heart Bears Not A Nimble

What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me?

Beware The Leader Who Bangs The Drums Of War In Order To Whip The Citizenry Into A Patriotic Fervor.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice, That My Woe-wearied Tongue Is Still And Mute.

O Shame, Where Is Thy Blush?