My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just,

If The Will, Which In The Law Of Our Nature, Were Withdrawn From Our Memory, Fancy, Understanding, And Reason, No Other Hell Could Equal, For A Spiritual Being, What We Should Then Feel From The Anarchy Of Our Powers. It Would Be Conscious Madness,--a Horrid Thought!

Sweet Bird, That Shun The Noise Of Folly, Most Musical, Most Melancholy!

Nor Think Thou With Wind Of æry Threats To Awe Whom Yet With Deeds Thou Canst Not.

And Add To These Retired Leisure, That In Trim Gardens Take His Pleasure.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Morn, Her Rising Sweet, With Charm Of Earliest Birds.