Lo, What Huge Heaps Of

No Louder Shrieks To Pitying Heaven Are Cast, When Husbands Or Lap-dogs Breathe Their Last.

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

Learn Of The Little Nautilus To Sail, Spread The Thin Oar, And Catch The Driving Gale.

Then Sculpture And Her Sister Arts Revived; Stones Leaped To Form, And Rocks Began To Live.