The Will To Do, The Soul To

Vengeance To God Alone Belongs; But, When I Think Of All My Wrongs My Blood Is Liquid Flame!

And Children Know, Instinctive Taught, The Friend And Foe.

In The Lost Battle, Borne Down By The Flying, Where Mingles War's Rattle With Groans Of The Dying.

Independently Of The Curious Circumstance That Such Tales Should Be Found Existing In Very Different Countries And Languages, Which Augurs A Greater Poverty Of Human Invention Than We Would Have Expected, There Is Also A Sort Of Wild Fairy Interest In Them, Which Makes Me Think Them Fully Better Adapted To Awaken The Imagination And Soften The Heart Of Childhood Than The Good-boy Stories Which Have Been In Later Years Composed For Them.

Thou Hast Had Thty Day, Old Dame, But Thy Sun Has Long Been Set. Thou Art Now The Very Emblem Of An Old Warhorse Turned Out On The Barren Heath; Thou Hast Had Thy Paces In Thy Time, But Now A Broken Amble Is The Best Of Them.