The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books.

Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach we are never satisfied.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been.

The Wreck of the Hesperus But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

I feel a kind of reverence for the first books of young authors. There is so much aspiration in them, so much audacious hope and trembling fear, so much of the heart's history, that all errors and shortcomings are for a while lost sight of in the amiable self assertion of youth.