Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

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

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

The different steps and degrees of education may be compared to the artificer's operations upon marble; it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, and another to square it, to give it gloss and lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.

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

We frolic while 'tis May.