An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
Tomorrow let us do or die!
To bear is to conquer our fate.
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.
Ye are brothers, ye are men, and we conquer but to save.