Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source.

Muse of the many twinkling feet, whose charms are now extending up from legs to arms.

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.

It has been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peut-tre -but still it is a grand one. Everybody clings to it -the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal.

Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.