Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.

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

Man is a carnivorous production, And must have meals, at least one meal a day; He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey; Although his anatomical construction Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, Your laboring people think beyond all question, Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants! And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.