11 June 1838 – 17 June 1838

Truth, Goodness, Beauty,—those celestial thrins, Continually are born; e'en now the Universe, With thousand throats, and eke with greener smiles, Its joy confesses at their recent birth. Strange that so many fickle gods, as fickle as the weather, Throughout Dame Nature's provinces should always pull together.

In the busy streets, domains of trade, Man is a surly porter, or a vain and hectoring bully, Who can claim no nearer kindredship with me Than brotherhood by law.