The Lightly-jumping, Glowrin' Trouts, That

Critics! Those Cut-throat Bandits In The Paths Of Fame.

All-cheering Plenty, With Her Flowing Horn, Led Yellow Autumn, Wreath'd With Nodding Corn.

Yon Rosebuds In The Morning-dew, How Pure Amang The Leaves Sae Green!

Not The Bee Upon The Blossom, In The Pride O' Sunny Noon; Not The Little Sporting Fairy, All Beneath The Simmer Moon; Not The Poet, In The Moment Fancy Lightens In His E'e, Kens The Pleasure, Feels The Rapture, That Thy Presence Gi'es To Me.

The Wide World Is All Before Us - But A World Without A Friend.