Poetry Is Thoughts That Breathe, And Words

And Hie Him Home, At Evening's Close, To Sweet Repast And Calm Repose.

Daughter Of Jove, Relentless Power, Thou Tamer Of The Human Breast, Whose Iron Scourge And Tort'ring Hour The Bad Affright, Afflict The Best!

Dear As The Light That Visits These Sad Eyes, Dear As The Ruddy Drops That Warm My Heart.

Low On His Funeral Couch He Lies!

No Further Seek His Merits To Disclose, Or Draw His Frailties From Their Dread Abode (there They Alike In Trembling Hope Repose), The Bosom Of His Father And His God.