Glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.
Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!
Sweet is revenge-especially to women.
My native land, good night!
Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.