Alas, poor Tom! how oft, with merry heart, Have we beheld thee play the Sexton's part; Each comic heart must now be grieved to see The Sexton's dreary part performed on thee.

Build me a shrine, and I could kneel To rural Gods, or prostrate fall; Did I not see, did I not feel. That One Great Spirit governs all. O Heaven, permit that I may lie Where o'er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life's tumults fly With kindred feelings press my grave.

See yonder maker of the dead man's bed, The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle, Of hard, unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole A gentle tear.

The grave, dread thing! Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled, Shakes off her wonted firmness.

To the Hesitating Purchaser:

"If sailor tales to sailor tunes,
Storm and adventure, heat and cold,
If schooners, islands, and maroons
And Buccaneers and buried Gold
And all the old romance, retold,
Exactly in the ancient way,
Can please, as me they pleased of old,
The wiser youngsters of to-day:

-So be it, and fall on! If not,
If studious youth no longer crave,
His ancient appetites forgot,
Kingston, or Ballantyne the brave,
Or Cooper of the wood and wave:
So be it, also! And may I
And all my pirates share the grave,
Where these and their creations lie!

It's difficult to move in (Afghanistan). We in the west tend to forget geography and climate still dictates a great deal of war in that region.