Fame Is The Spur That The Clear

Farewell Happy Fields, Where Joy Forever Dwells: Hail, Horrors, Hail.

Unless An Age Too Late, Or Cold Climate, Or Years, Damp My Intended Wing.

Come To The Sunset Tree! The Day Is Past And Gone; The Woodman's Axe Lies Free, And The Reaper's Work Is Done.

Boast Not Of What Thou Would'st Have Done, But Do.

How Oft, In Nations Gone Corrupt, And By Their Own Devices Brought Down To Servitude, That Man Chooses Bondage Before Liberty. Bondage With Ease Before Strenuous Liberty.