Who Hath Not Own'd, With Rapture-smitten Frame,

But Sad As Angels For The Good Man's Sin, Weep To Record, And Blush To Give It In.

O Leave This Barren Spot To Me! Spare, Woodman, Spare The Beechen Tree.

Ye Mariners Of England! That Guard Our Native Seas; Whose Flag Has Braved A Thousand Years, The Battle And The Breeze!

Who Hail Thee, Man! The Pilgrim Of The Day, Spouse Of The Worm, And Brother Of The Clay.

Tis Distance Lends Enchantment To The View, And Robes The Mountain In Its Azure Hue.