For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?

Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes: Pique her and soothe in turn-soon Passion crowns thy hopes.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

My altars are the mountains and the ocean.

This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.

How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee, night! for thou has chased away these horrid bodements which, amidst the throng, I could not dissipate; and with the blessing of thy benign and quiet influence now will I to my couch, although to rest is almost wronging such a night as this.