Hell Is Full Of Good Intentions.

Nor Grandeur Hear With A Disdainful Smile The Short And Simple Annals Of The Poor.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife Their Sober Wishes Never Learn'd To Stray; Along The Cool Sequester'd Vale Of Life They Kept The Noiseless Tenor Of Their Way.

The Insect-youth Are On The Wing, Eager To Taste The Honied Spring, And Float Amid The Liquid Noon!

And Moody Madness Laughing Wild Amid Severest Woe.

Here Rests His Head Upon The Lap Of Earth, A Youth To Fortune And To Fame Unknown: Fair Science Frown'd Not On His Humble Birth, And Melancholy Mark'd Him For Her Own.