The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.

Our Very Hopes Belied Our Fears, Our Fears Our Hopes Belied; We Thought Her Dying When She Slept, And Sleeping When She Died.

Frost Is The Greatest Artist In Our Clime - He Paints In Nature And Describes In Rime.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

Dear Bells! How Sweet The Sound Of Village Bells When On The Undulating Air They Swim!

How Widely Its Agencies Vary,- To Save, To Ruin, To Curse, To Bless,- As Even Its Minted Coins Express, Now Stamp'd With The Image Of Good Queen Bess, And Now Of A Bloody Mary.