The Gay Motes That People The Sunbeams.

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.

Equally Inured By Moderation Either State To Bear, Prosperous Or Adverse.

Who Shall Silence All The Airs And Madrigals That Whisper Softness In Chambers?

In Dim Eclipse, Disastrous Twilight Sheds On Half The Nations, And With Fear Of Change Perplexes Monarchs.

The World Was All Before Them, Where To Choose Their Place Of Rest, And Providence Their Guide: They Hand In Hand, With Wandering Steps And Slow, Through Eden Took Their Solitary Way.