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.

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

Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer.

I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.

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

Be hypocritical, be cautious, be not what you seem but always what you see.