Here Eglantine Embalm'd The Air, Hawthorne And

Sensibility Is Nature's Celestial Spring.

What Various Scenes, And O! What Scenes Of Woe, Are Witness'd By That Red And Struggling Beam! The Fever'd Patient, From His Pallet Low, Through Crowded Hospitals Beholds It Stream; The Ruined Maiden Trembles At Its Gleam, The Debtor Wakes To Thought Of Gyve And Jail, The Love-lorn Wretch Starts From Tormenting Dream; The Wakeful Mother, By The Glimmering Pale, Trims Her Sick Infant's Couch, And Soothes His Feeble Wail.

Many Miles Away There's A Shadow On The Door Of A Cottage On The Shore Of A Dark Scottish Lake.

God Forgive Me For Having Thought It Possible That A Schoolmaster Could Be Out And Out A Rational Being.

Warriors! And Where Are Warriors Found, If Not On Martial Britain's Ground? And Who, When Waked With Note Of Fire, Love More Than They The British Lyre?