On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth: Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare.

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.

The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!

Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances!

Fair play is a jewel.

Now, it is well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable etiquette.