Love, To Her Ear, Was But A

I Will Tear This Folly From My Heart, Though Every Fibre Bleed As I Rend It Away!

He That Climbs The Tall Tree Has Won Right To The Fruit, He That Leaps The Wide Gulf Should Prevail In His Suit.

Breathes There The Man, With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land! Whose Heart Hath Ne'er Within Him Burn'd, As Home His Footsteps He Hath Turn'd From Wandering On A Foreign Strand! If Such There Breathe, Go Mark Him Well; For Him No Minstrel Raptures Swell; High Though His Titles, Proud His Name, Boundless His Wealth As Wish Can Claim; Despite Those Titles, Power, And Pelf, The Wretch, Concentred All In Self, Living, Shall Forfeit Fair Renown, And, Doubly Dying, Shall Go Down To The Vile Dust, From Whence He Sprung, Unwept, Unhonor'd, And Unsung.

Spangling The Wave With Lights As Vain As Pleasures In The Vale Of Pain, That Dazzle As They Fade.

For Success, Attitude Is Equally As Important As Ability.