As To Posterity, I May Ask What

Some Village Hampden, That With Dauntless Breast The Little Tyrant Of His Fields Withstood, Some Mute Inglorious Milton Here May Rest, Some Cromwell Guiltless Of His Country's Blood.

Along The Cool Sequestered Vale Of Life, They Kept The Noiseless Tenour Of Their Way.

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

T'was Spring, T'was Summer, All Was Gay Now Autumn Bears A Cloud Brow The Flowers Of Spring Are Swept Way And Summer Fruits Desert The Bough

But Knowledge To Their Eyes Her Ample Page Rich With The Spoils Of Time Did Ne'er Unroll; Chill Penury Repressed Their Noble Rage, And Froze The Genial Current Of The Soul.