We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.

Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.

In youth, what disappointments of our own making: in age, what disappointments from the nature of things.

The spirit walks of every day deceased.

Mine is the night, with all her stars.

Pity swells the tide of love.