To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance

The Attic Warbler Pours Her Throat, Responsive To The Cuckoo's Note, The Untaught Harmony Of Spring.

When Love Could Teach A Monarch To Be Wise, And Gospel-light First Dawn'd From Bullen's Eyes.

Can Storied Urn, Or Animated Bust Back To Its Mansion Call The Fleeting Breath? Can Honour's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flatt'ry Soothe The Dull Cold Ear Of Death?

The Boast Of Heraldry, The Pomp Of Pow'r, And All That Beauty, All That Wealth E'er Gave, Awaits Alike Th' Inevitable Hour. The Paths Of Glory Lead But To The Grave.

Any Fool May Write A Most Valuable Book By Chance, If He Will Only Tell Us What He Heard And Saw With Veracity.