His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.

The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.

Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than War.

Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk.

Indu'd With sanctity of reason.

And feel that I am happier than I know.

See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing.