Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear

Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.

Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.

All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.