I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.

For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.

No hand can make the clock strike for me the hours that are passed.

I loved my country, and I hated him.

There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.

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