What Female Heart Can Gold

The Language Of The Age Is Never The Language Of Poetry, Except Among The French, Whose Verse, Where The Thought Or Image Does Not Support It, Differs In Nothing From Prose.

Her Track, Where'er The Goddess Roves, Glory Pursue, And Gen'rous Shame, Th' Unconquerable Mind, And Freedom's Holy Flame.

Hell Is Full Of Good Intentions.

And Moody Madness Laughing Wild Amid Severest Woe.

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.