And Weep The More, Because I Weep

The Hues Of Bliss More Brightly Glow, Chastis'd By Sabler Tints Of Woe.

Nor Grandeur Hear With A Disdainful Smile The Short And Simple Annals Of The Poor.

The Meanest Flowret Of The Vale, / The Simplest Note That Swells The Gale, / The Common Sun, The Air, And Skies, / To Him Are Opening Paradise.

Fair Laughs The Morn, And Soft The Zephyr Blows, While Proudly Rising O'er The Azure Realm In Gallant Trim The Gilded Vessel Goes, Youth On The Prow, And Pleasure At The Helm.

What Female Heart Can Gold Despise? What Cat 's Averse To Fish?