All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands.

Yet I did love thee to the last, As ferverently as thou, Who didst not change through all the past, And canst not alter now.

History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.

Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.

Who falls from all he knows of bliss, Cares little into what abyss.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep.