Pity speaks to grief more sweetly than a band of instruments.
Despair doth strike as deep a furrow in the brain as mischief or remorse.
I 'm on the sea! I 'm on the sea! I am where I would ever be, With the blue above and the blue below, And silence wheresoever I go.
I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.
A single star is rising in the east, and from afar sheds a most tremulous lustre; silent Night doth wear it like a jewel on her brow.
Love can take what shape he pleases; and when once begun his fiery inroad in the soul, how vain the after knowledge which his presence gives! We weep or rave; but still he lives, and lives master and lord, amidst pride and tears and pain.