The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.

Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.

A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.

Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.

Genius, with all its pride in its own strength, is but a dependent quality, and cannot put forth its whole powers nor claim all its honors without an amount of aid from the talents and labors of others which it is difficult to calculate.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.