Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

I Shall Seethe Hour Of Death Draw Near To Me,hope, Blossoming Within My Heart. . . .

Yet Will That Beauteous Image Make The Dreary Sea Less Drear And Thy Remembered Smile Will Wake The Hope That Tramples Fear

God Hath Yoked To Guilt Her Pale Tormentor,--misery.

Ah! Never Shall The Land Forget.

Thou Who Wouldst See The Lovely And The Wild Mingled In Harmony On Nature's Face, Ascend Our Rocky Mountains. Let Thy Foot Fail Not With Weariness, For On Their Tops The Beauty And The Majesty Of Earth, Spread Wide Beneath, Shall Make Thee To Forget The Steep And Toilsome Way.