The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
An undevout astronomer is mad.
What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach, 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind; And while it satisfies, it censures too.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
Give me, indulgent gods with mind serene, And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur, there.