We still, with face erect, behold the sun—
Have bright examples in what has been done
By head or hand—and, in the times to come,
May tread bright pathways to our gate of doom.
'So, if we gaze from our snug villa's door,
By vines or honeysuckles covered o'er,
Though we have saddening thoughts, we still can smile
In thinking our hut supersedes the pile
Whose turrets totter 'mid the woods before us,
And whose proud owners used to trample o'er us;