She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.
The conscience of a people is their power.
For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.