Facts are stubborn things

Writing is all a lottery -- I have been a loser by the works of the greatest men of the age.

Keen are the pangs Of hapless love, and passion unapprov'd: But where consenting wishes meet, and vows Reciprocally breath'd, confirm the tie, Joy rolls on joy, an inexhausted stream! And virtue crowns the sacred scene.

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share, Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye. Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.

Those sculptur'd halls my feet shall never tread, Where varnish'd vice and vanity combin'd, To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, And forge vile shackles for the free-born mind.

Thy fatal shafts unerring move, I bow before thine altar, Love!

To-day, in snow array'd, stern winter rules The ravag'd plain—Anon the teeming earth Unlocks her stores, and spring adorns the year: And shall not we—while fate, like winter, frowns, Expect revolving bliss?