[my Kitten's] Gambols Are Not To Be

Made Poetry A Mere Mechanic Art.

But Slaves That Once Conceive The Glowing Thought Of Freedom, In That Hope Itself Possess All That The Contest Calls For; Spirit, Strength, The Scorn Of Danger, And United Hearts, The Surest Presage Of The Good They Seek.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

Great Contest Follows, And Much Learned Dust Involves The Combatants; Each Claiming Truth, And Truth Disclaiming Both.

Where Men Of Judgment Creep And Feel Their Way, The Positive Pronounce Without Dismay.