It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!

Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.

This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.

I love not man the less, but Nature more.

I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.