He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.

This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.

This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.

Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one.

I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.