The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.

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

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

For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?

I have no consistency, except in politics; and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether.

Tis an old lesson; time approves it true, And those who know it best, deplore it most; When all is won that all desire to woo, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.

The dew of compassion is a tear.