My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea

And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.

.... Anon from the castle walls The crescent banner falls, And the crowd beholds instead, Like a portent in the sky, Iskander's banner fly, The Black Eagle with double head. And shouts ascend on high .....'' Long live Scanderbeg.

As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.