Fill high the cup with Samian wine!

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!

Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?

They never fail who die in a great cause.

You gave me the key to your heart, my love, then why did you make me knock?