One to destroy, is murder by the law; and gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe; to murder thousands, takes a specious name, 'War's glorious art', and gives immortal fame.

This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.

Born Originals, how comes it to pass that we die Copies?

Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile - The mind turns fool, before the cheek is dry

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.

What tender force, what dignity divine, what virtue consecrating every feature; around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!