If the will, which in the law of our nature, were withdrawn from our memory, fancy, understanding, and reason, no other hell could equal, for a spiritual being, what we should then feel from the anarchy of our powers. It would be conscious madness,--a horrid thought!

Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold.

Still paying, still to owe. Eternal woe!

The work under our labour grows, Luxurious by restraint.

To many a youth and many a maid, dancing in the chequer'd shade.

Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.

Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half