The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste,

Philologists, Who Chase A Painting Syllable Through Time And Space Start It At Home, And Hunt It In The Dark, To Gaul, To Greece, And Into Noah's Ark.

Then Liberty, Like Day, Breaks On The Soul, And By A Flash From Heaven Fires All The Faculties With Glorious Joy.

Happy The Man Who Sees A God Employed In All The Good And Ills That Checker Life.

No Man Can Be A Patriot On An Empty Stomach.

Some Write A Narrative Of Wars And Feats, Of Heroes Little Known, And Call The Rant A History.