O! dearer far is the poor Soldier’s grave,
The Widow’s lone and unregarded Cot,
The brawling Brook, and the wide Alder-bough,
The ozier Canopy, and plumy choir,
Hymning the Morn’s return, than the rich Dome
Of gilded Palaces! and sweeter far—
O! far more graceful! far more exquisite,
The Widow’s tear bathing the living rose,
Than the rich ruby, blushing on the breast,
Of guilty greatness. Welcome then to me—