Poor in abundance, famish'd at a feast.
Death! great proprietor of all! 'tis thine To tread out empire, and to quench the stars.
Read nature; nature is a friend to truth.
We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile - The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry
Final Ruin fiercely drives Her ploughshare o'er creation.
The soul of man was made to walk the skies.