He Lies Like A Hedgehog Rolled Up

So Mayst Thou Live, Dear! Many Years, In All The Bliss That Life Endears

Mother Of Light! How Fairly Dost Thou Go Over Those Hoary Crests, Divinely Led! Art Thou That Huntress Of The Silver Bow Fabled Of Old? Or Rather Dost Thou Tread Those Cloudy Summits Thence To Gaze Below, Like The Wild Chamois From Her Alpine Snow, Where Hunters Never Climbed--secure From Dread?

And There Is Even A Happiness That Makes The Heart Afraid.

The Best Of Friends Fall Out, And So His Teeth Had Done Some Years Ago.

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?