They Hear A Voice In

Youth Smiles Without Any Reason. It Is One Of Its Chiefest Charms.

As To Posterity, I May Ask What Has It Ever Done To Oblige Me?

To Brisk Notes In Cadence Beating, Glance Their Many-twinkling Feet.

The Attic Warbler Pours Her Throat, Responsive To The Cuckoo's Note, The Untaught Harmony Of Spring.

Can Honor's Voice Provoke The Silent Dust, Or Flattery Soothe The Dull, Cold Ear Of Death?