E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.