An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
Tomorrow let us do or die!
To bear is to conquer our fate.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.
The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
What millions died that Caesar might be great!
And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.
Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Ye are brothers, ye are men, and we conquer but to save.
