Or Bid The Soul Of Orpheus Sing

Must I Thus Leave Thee, Paradise?-thus Leave Thee, Native Soil, These Happy Walks And Shades?

The Rising World Of Waters Dark And Deep.

It Is Not Virtue, Wisdom, Valour, Wit, Strength, Comeliness Of Shape, Or Amplest Merit, That Woman's Love Can Win, Or Long Inherit; But What It Is, Hard Is To Say, Harder To Hit.

Pandemonium, The High Capital Of Satan And His Peers.

Heaven, The Seat Of Bliss, Brooks Not The Works Of Violence And War.