The Paths Of Glory Lead But To

Each In His Narrow Cell Forever Laid, The Rude Forefathers Of The Hamlet Sleep.

A Fav'rite Has No Friend!

The Time Will Come, When Thou Shalt Lift Thine Eyes To Watch A Long-drawn Battle In The Skies. While Aged Peasants, Too Amazed For Words, Stare At The Flying Fleets Of Wondrous Birds.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife.

Man's Feeble Race What Ills Await! Labour, And Penury, The Racks Of Pain, Disease, And Sorrow's Weeping Train, And Death, Sad Refuge From The Storms Of Fate!