Profan'd The God-given Strength, And Marr'd The

The Chain Of Friendship, However Bright, Does Not Stand The Attrition Of Constant Close Contact.

Breathes There The Man With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land.

Love, To Her Ear, Was But A Name, Combin'd With Vanity And Shame; Her Hopes, Her Fears, Her Joys, Were All Bounded Within The Cloister Wall.

Will Future Ages Believe That Such Stupid Bigotry Ever Existed!

What Can They See In The Longest Kingly Line In Europe, Save That It Runs Back To A Successful Soldier?