In England The Only Homage Which They

Still From The Fount Of Joy's Delicious Springs Some Bitter O'er The Flowers Its Bubbling Venom Flings.

Muse Of The Many Twinkling Feet, Whose Charms Are Now Extending Up From Legs To Arms.

Tis Sweet To Listen As The Night Winds Creep From Leaf To Leaf.

Lord Of Himself; That Heritage Of Woe!

I See Before Me The Gladiator Lie.