Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A

All Constraint, / Except What Wisdom Lays On Evil Men, / Is Evil.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

No Tree In All The Grove But Has Its Charms, Though Each Its Hue Peculiar.

Friends, Books, A Garden, And Perhaps His Pen, Delightful Industry Enjoy'd At Home, An Nature, In Her Cultivated Trim Dress'ed To His Taste, Inviting Him Abroad - Can He Want Occupation Who Has These?

Some Write A Narrative Of Wars And Feats, Of Heroes Little Known, And Call The Rant A History.