The Bud May Have A

The Only Amarantine Flower On Earth Is Virtue.

O, Popular Applause! What Heart Of Man Is Proof Against Thy Sweet, Seducing Charms?

For When Was Public Virtue To Be Found Where Private Was Not?

Twere Better To Be Born A Stone Of Ruder Shape, And Feeling None, Than With A Tenderness Like Mine And Sensibilities So Fine! Ah, Hapless Wretch! Condemn'd To Dwell Forever In My Native Shell, Ordained To Move When Others Please, Not For My Own Content Or Ease; But Toss'd And Buffeted About, Now In The Water And Now Out.

But Oars Alone Can Ne'er Prevail To Reach The Distant Coast; The Breath Of Heaven Must Swell The Sail, Or All The Toil Is Lost.