Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
But sad as angels for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in.
Coming events cast their shadows before.
A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep.
Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,Whose truths electrify the sage.