Never Was It Given To Mortal Man

Whate'er The Talents, Or Howe'er Designed, We Hang One Jingling Padlock On The Mind.

I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

For Critics, As They Are Birds Of Prey, Have Ever A Natural Inclination To Carrion.

An Atheist Is But A Mad, Ridiculous Derider Of Piety, But A Hypocrite Makes A Sober Jest Of God And Religion; He Finds It Easier To Be Upon His Knees Than To Rise To A Good Action.

But See, Orion Sheds Unwholesome Dews; Arise, The Pines A Noxious Shade Diffuse; Sharp Boreas Blows, And Nature Feels Decay, Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.