No King Nor Nation One Moment Can

All, As They Say, That Glitters Is Not Gold.

An Horrible Stillness First Invades Our Ear, And In That Silence We The Tempest Fear.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Heroic Poetry Has Ever Been Esteemed The Greatest Work Of Human Nature.

Not Heav'n Itself Upon The Past Has Pow'r; But What Has Been, Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.