Talent May Be In Time Forgiven, But

By Heaven! It Is A Splendid Sight To See For One Who Hath No Friend, No Brother There.

Scion Of Chiefs And Monarchs, Where Art Thou? Fond Hope Of Many Nations, Art Thou Dead? Could Not The Grave Forget Thee, And Lay Low Some Less Majestic, Less Beloved Head?

Death, So Called, Is A Thing Which Makes Men Weep, And Yet A Third Of Life Is Passed In Sleep.

Who Falls From All He Knows Of Bliss, Cares Little Into What Abyss.

Egeria! Sweet Creation Of Some Heart Which Found No Mortal Resting-place So Fair As Thine Ideal Breast.