The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best!

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.

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

Ah, tell them they are men!