Art Thou A Friend To

Great Talent Has Always A Little Madness Mixed Up With It.

Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course.

High Minds, Of Native Pride And Force, Most Deeply Feel Thy Pangs, Remorse; Fear, For Their Scourge, Means Villains Have, Thou Art The Torturer Of The Brave!

Like The Dew On The Mountain, Like The Foam On The River, Like The Bubble On The Fountain, Thou Art Gone, And For Ever!

Is Death The Last Sleep? No, It Is The Last And Final Awakening.