Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.

It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.

Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.

I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!

My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.

O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues halt thou.