Death Ready Stands To Interpose His Dart.

Was I Deceiv'd, Or Did A Sable Cloud Turn Forth Her Silver Lining On The Night?

So He With Difficulty And Labour Hard Mov'd On, With Difficulty And Labour He.

Socrates... Whom Well Inspir'd The Oracle Pronounc'd Wisest Of Men.

The Low'ring Element Scowls O'er The Darken'd Landscape.

What Needs My Shakespeare For His Honour'd Bones,- The Labour Of An Age In Piled Stones? Or That His Hallow'd Relics Should Be Hid Under A Star-y-pointing Pyramid? Dear Son Of Memory, Great Heir Of Fame, What Need'st Thou Such Weak Witness Of Thy Name?