Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

The Poetry Of Speech.

For What Were All These Country Patriots Born? To Hunt, And Vote, And Raise The Price Of Corn?

For The Angel Of Death Spread His Wings On The Blast, And Breathed In The Face Of The Foe As He Passed; And The Eyes Of The Sleepers Waxed Deadly And Chill, And Their Hearts But Once Heaved, And For Ever Grew Still!

Of All The Horrid, Hideous Notes Of Woe, Sadder Than Owl-songs Or The Midnight Blast; Is That Portentous Phrase, "i Told You So.