Like our shadows, our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.
Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.
Wouldst thou be famed? have those high acts in view, Brave men would act though scandal would ensue.