Years Steal Fire From The

So Bright The Tear In Beauty's Eye, Love Half Regrets To Kiss It Dry.

On The Ear Drops The Light Drip Of The Suspended Oar.

I Have No Consistency, Except In Politics; And That Probably Arises From My Indifference To The Subject Altogether.

Then Rose From Sea To Sky The Wild Farewell Then Shriek'd The Timid, And Stood Still The Brave, Then Some Leap'd Overboard With Fearful Yell, As Eager To Anticipate Their Grave.

If Ancient Tales Say True, Nor Wrong These Holy Men.