Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!

And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?

Adversity is the first path to truth.

To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.

Come what may, I have been blest.

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.