Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save.

Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing; Wed or cease to woo.

His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest.

Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,Whose truths electrify the sage.

Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep.

For there no yew nor cypress spread their glom But roses blossom'd each rustic tomb.

Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue.