Who, Noteless As The Race

See Yonder Rock From Which The Fountain Gushes; Is It Less Compact Of Adamant, Though Waters Flow From It? Firm Hearts Have Moister Eyes.

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

Every Hour Has Its End.

Will Future Ages Believe That Such Stupid Bigotry Ever Existed!

Where, Where Was Roderick Then? One Blast Upon His Bugle Horn Were Worth A Thousand Men.