Of Her Scorn The Maid Repented, And

Forgotten Rimes, And College Themes, Worm-eaten Plans, And Embryo Schemes; A Mass Of Heterogeneous Matter. A Chaos Dark, Nor Land Nor Water.

When One By One Our Ties Are Torn, And Friend From Friend Is Snatched Forlorn; When Man Is Left Alone To Mourn, Oh! Then How Sweet It Is To Die!

And When Midst Fallen London, They Survey The Stone Where Alexander's Ashes Lay, Shall Own With Humbled Pride The Lesson Must By Time's Slow Finger Written In The Dust.

We Neither Laugh Alone, Nor Weep Alone, Why Then Should We Pray Alone?

The Well Taught Philosophic Mind To All Compassion Gives; Casts Round The World An Equal Eye, And Feels For All That Lives.