"THE PATHS OF GLORY LEAD BUT TO THE GRAVE."- Page 61.

THOMAS GRAY.

61

How jocund did they drive their team | Some mute, inglorious Milton here may

afield!

rest;

How bowed the woods beneath their Some Cromwell, guiltless of his counsturdy stroke! try's blood.

E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature | Fair Science frowned not on his humble cries,

birth,

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. And Melancholy marked him for her own.