Ye Towers Of Julius, London's

And Hie Him Home, At Evening's Close, To Sweet Repast And Calm Repose.

Not All That Tempts Your Wandering Eyes And Heedless Hearts, Is Lawful Prize; Nor All That Glisters Gold.

How Low, How Little Are The Proud, How Indigent The Great!

Implores The Passing Tribute Of A Sigh.

Fair Laughs The Morn, And Soft The Zephyr Blows, While Proudly Rising O'er The Azure Realm In Gallant Trim The Gilded Vessel Goes, Youth On The Prow, And Pleasure At The Helm.