I have heard men talk about the blessings of freedom," he said to himself, "but I wish any wise man would teach me what use to make of it now that I have it.

In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.

He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit.

The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!

Good wine needs neither bush nor preface to make it welcome. And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd.

Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.

Threatened folk live long.