A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

No more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.

The great object of life is Sensation - to feel that we exist - even though in pain - it is this "craving void" which drives us to gaming - to battle - to travel - to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment.

Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.

And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.