Oh, How Hard It Is To Find

O Leave This Barren Spot To Me! Spare, Woodman, Spare The Beechen Tree.

What Though My Winged Hours Of Bliss Have Been, Like Angel Visits, Few And Far Between.

Men Of England! Who Inheritrights That Cost Your Sires Their Blood.

An Original Something, Dear Maid, You Would Wish Me To Write; But How Shall I Begin? For I'm Sure I Have Not Original In Me, Excepting Original Sin.

To Live In Hearts We Leave Behind Is Not To Die.