Truth, Crushed To Earth, Shall Rise Again.

Fairest Of All That Earth Beholds, The Hues That Live Among The Clouds, And Flush The Air, Lingering, And Deepening At The Hour Of Dews.

A Melancholy Sound Is In The Air, A Deep Sigh In The Distance, A Shrill Wail Around My Dwelling. 'tis The Wind Of Night.

Beautiful Isles! Beneath The Sunset Skies Tall, Silver-shafted Palm-trees Rise, Between Full Orange-trees That Shade The Living Colonade.

But Winter Has Yet Brighter Scenes-he Boasts Splendors Beyond What Gorgeous Summer Knows; Or Autumn With His Many Fruits, And Woods All Flushed With Many Hues.

The Rose That Lives Its Little Hour Is Prized Beyone The Sculpted Flower.