Old scenes to visit, and old dreams to dream

How long will conquerors trample earth, And Strength prevail o'er Right and Worth? Gaze round the world—this truth confess, The powerful still the weak oppress; New empires spring o'er empires' graves, Some must be free, and some be slaves;

The angel, crossing heaven on wings of light, Stooped to admire, and paused upon his flight, As Woman rose in beauty on the plain, The last and loveliest link of Being's chain.

[H]aving entered the lists of Poetry, should I be foiled at the first onset, I may probably, like a true knight, who, as Cid Hamete's hero says, "though he be vanquished to-day, may conquer to-morrow," re-set my lance in rest, and venture …

Bubble, bubble, flows the stream Like an old tune through a dream.

The little bee returns with evening's gloom, To join her comrades in the braided hive, Where, housed beside their mighty honey-comb, They dream their polity shall long survive.

For milkmaids and queens and gipsy-princesses Dream and kiss blindfold or starve upon guesses.