This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man, and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learned the language of another world.

He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.

I doubt sometimes whether a quiet and unagitated life would have suited me - yet I sometimes long for it.

What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper," To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.