There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were; First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?

Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's!

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.

The heart will break, but broken live on.

Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.