And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.

The very best of vineyards is the cellar

The heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old!-- The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns.

It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flatter; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship

For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!

We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.