The Niobe Of Nations! There She Stands.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.

Land Of Lost Gods And Godlike Men.

Such Is Your Cold Coquette, Who Can't Say "no," And Won't Say "yes," And Keeps You On And Off-ing On A Lee-shore, Till It Begins To Blow, Then Sees Your Heart Wreck'd, With An Inward Scoffing.

No Hand Can Make The Clock Strike For Me The Hours That Are Passed.

I Can't But Say It Is An Awkward Sight To See One's Native Land Receding Through The Growing Waters; It Unmans One Quite, Especially When Life Is Rather New.