I Was Byron And Shakespeare Formerly.

If Life Had A Second Edition, How I Would Correct The Proofs.

For Nature Is Love, And Finds Haunts For True Love, Where Nothing Can Hear Or Intrude; It Hides From The Eagle And Joins With The Dove, In Beautiful Green Solitude.

To-morrow Comes, True Copy Of To-day,and Empty Shadow Of What Is To Be;yet Cheated Hope On Future Still Depends,and Ends But Only When Our Being Ends.

How Oft A Summer Shower Has Started Me; To Seek The Shelter Of A Hollow Tree

Now Musing O'er The Changing Scene Farmers Behind The Tavern Screen Collect; With Elbows Idly Press'd On Hob, Reclines The Corner's Guest, Reading The News To Mark Again The Bankrupt Lists Or Price Of Grain. Puffing The While His Red-tipt Pipe He Dreams O'er Troubles Nearly Ripe, Yet, Winter's Leisure To Regale, Hopes Better Times, And Sips His Ale.