Men Will Believe Anything At All Provided

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife.

Each In His Narrow Cell Forever Laid, The Rude Forefathers Of The Hamlet Sleep.

Can Storied Urn, Or Animated Bust Back To Its Mansion Call The Fleeting Breath? Can Honour's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flatt'ry Soothe The Dull Cold Ear Of Death?

Her Track, Where'er The Goddess Roves, Glory Pursue, And Gen'rous Shame, Th' Unconquerable Mind, And Freedom's Holy Flame.

The Paths Of Glory Lead But To The Grave.