Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save. - Thomas Campbell

Oh leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;
No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe: Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away! Angel of life! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore.