This is to be along; this, this is solitude!

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.

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

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

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

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.

Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!