But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.

Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.

I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

Tyranny is for the worst of treasons.

The sky is changed,-and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder.

I die but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed.