Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
The ocean is a mighty harmonist.