Our country is where ever we are well off.
Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.
From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone, But rush upon me thronging.
O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift than time or motion.
For books are as meats and viands are; some of good, some of evil sub-stance.