Maidens, like moths, are ever caught, by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

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.

When people say, "I've told you fifty times," They mean to scold, and very often do; When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes," They make you dread that they'll recite them too; In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true, but then, no doubt, it equally as true is, a good deal may be bought for fifty Louis.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water! Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

A drop of ink may make a million think.

I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.