Ancestral Voices Prophesying War.

O Let Me Be Awake, My God! Or Let Me Sleep Alway.

Stimulate The Heart To Love And The Mind To Be Early Accurate, And All Other Virtues Will Rise Of Their Own Accord, And All Vices Will Be Thrown Out.

Indignation At Literary Wrongs I Leave To Men Born Under Happier Stars. I Cannot Afford It.

God! Sing, Ye Meadow-streams, With Gladsome Voice! Ye Pine-groves, With Your Soft And Soul-like Sounds! And They Too Have A Voice, You Piles Of Snow, And In Their Perilous Fall Shall Thunder, God!

When Thieves Come, I Bark; When Gallants, I Am Still - So Perform Both My Master's And Mistress's Will.