In the storm, like a prophet o'ermaddened, Thou singest and tossest thy branches; Thy heart with the terror is gladdened, Thou forebodest the dread avalanches.... In the calm thou o'erstretchest the valleys With thine arms, as if blessings imploring, Like an old king led forth from his palace, When his people to battle are pouring.

To genius life never grows commonplace.

There is something magnificent in having a country to love.

As life runs on, the road grows strange with faces new - and near the end. The milestones into headstones change, Neath every one a friend.

There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.

A sneer is the weapon of the weak.

What visionary tints the year puts on, When falling leaves falter through motionless air Or numbly cling and shiver to be gone! How shimmer the low flats and pastures bare, As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills The bowl between me and those distant hills, And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, tremulous hair!