Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade. Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

Behold the groves that shine with silver frost, their beauty withered, and their verdure lost!

New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise: So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try.

So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

Be silent always when you doubt your sense.

There are some solitary wretches who seem to have left the rest of mankind, only, as Eve left Adam, to meet the devil in private.

Homer excels all the inventors of other arts in this: that he has swallowed up the honor of those who succeeded him.