The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
The reading or non-reading a book will never keep down a single petticoat.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.
I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.
Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head?
In solitude, when we are least alone.