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

Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.

Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.

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

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.