Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.

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

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.

The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.