Dogs, Ye Have Had Your Day!

Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits Us When We Die.

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

Silence! Coeval With Eternity! Thou Wert Ere Nature's Self Began To Be; Thine Was The Sway Ere Heaven Was Formed On Earth, Ere Fruitful Thought Conceived Creation's Birth.

Oh! If To Dance All Night, And Dress All Day, Charm'd The Small-pox, Or Chas'd Old Age Away; . . . . To Patch, Nay Ogle, Might Become A Saint, Nor Could It Sure Be Such A Sin To Paint.

Astrologers That Future Fates Foreshow.