Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

I Am Satisfied To Trifle Away My Time, Rather Than Let It Stick By Me.

But Thousands Die Without Or This Or That, Die, And Endow A College Or A Cat.

In Death A Hero, As In Life A Friend!

Lo! The Poor Indian, Whose Untutored Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind.