In solitude, where we are least alone.

Marriage, from love, like vinegar from wine-- A sad, sour sober beverage--by time Is sharpened from its high celestial flavor Down to a very homely household savor.

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; A single laugh demolish'd the right arm Of his own country.

When Bishop Berkeley said "there was no matter." And proved it--'t was no matter what he said.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years.

Yet still there whispers the small voice within, Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din; Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God.