For what is glory but the blaze of fame?

Hate is of all things the mightiest divider, nay, is division itself. To couple hatred, therefore, though wedlock try all her golden links, and borrow to tier aid all the iron manacles and fetters of law, it does but seek to twist a rope of sand.

'Paradise Lost' is one of the books which the reader admires and lays down, and forgets to take up again. None ever wished it longer than it is.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled!

And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.

Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!

But oh! as to embrace me she inclin'd, I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.