Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death; he walks with nature; and her paths are peace.