Still Sweet With Blossoms Is The Year's

Here The Free Spirit Of Mankind, At Length, Throws Its Last Fetters Off; And Who Shall Place A Limit To The Giant's Unchained Strength, Or Curb His Swiftness In The Forward Race?

Maidens Hearts Are Always Soft: Would That Men's Were Truer!

The Sweet Calm Sunshine Of October, Now Warms The Low Spot; Upon Its Grassy Mold The Pur0ple Oak-leaf Falls; The Birchen Bough Drops Its Bright Spoil Like Arrow-heads Of Gold.

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

Tender Pauses Speak The Overflow Of Gladness, When Words Are All Too Weak.