There Swift Return Diurnal, Merely To Officiate

Or Bid The Soul Of Orpheus Sing Such Notes As, Warbled To The String, Drew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek.

Eloquence The Soul, Song Charms The Senses.

Yet Hold It More Humane, More Heav'nly, First, By Winning Words To Conquer Willing Hearts, And Make Persuasion Do The Work Of Fear.

And On The Tree Of Life, The Middle Tree And Highest There That Grew, Sat Like A Cormorant.

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.