On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits.

Hope Humbly Then; With Trembling Pinions Soar; Wait The Great Teacher, Death, And God Adore; What Future Bliss He Gives Not Thee To Know, But Gives That Hope To Be Thy Blessing Now.

Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

Homer Excels All The Inventors Of Other Arts In This: That He Has Swallowed Up The Honor Of Those Who Succeeded Him.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

Speed The Soft Intercourse From Soul To Soul, And Waft A Sigh From Indus To The Pole.