There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

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

Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

Hearts will break - yet brokenly, live on.

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave.

A sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned.