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

The mind doth shape itself to its own wants, and can bear all things.

To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul; yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth, and lead him forth as a domestic cur,--these are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty.

If my heart were not light, I would die.

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

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

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