A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

Mine is the night, with all her stars.

Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.

Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? What tho' we wade in Wealth, or soar in Fame? Earth's highest station ends in 'Here he lies;' and 'Dust to dust' concludes the noblest songs.

Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.