Where Once My Careless Childhood Strayed, /

Beyond The Limits Of A Vulgar Fate, Beneath The Good How Far,-but Far Above The Great.

Hell Is Full Of Good Intentions.

The Insect-youth Are On The Wing, Eager To Taste The Honied Spring, And Float Amid The Liquid Noon!

Gay Hope Is Theirs By Fancy Fed, Less Pleasing When Possest; The Tear Forgot As Soon As Shed, The Sunshine Of The Breast.

To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance Their Many-twinkling Feet.