Here's a sigh to those who love me,And a smile to those who hate;And, whatever sky's above me,Here's a heart for every fate.

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!

Lovers may be and indeed generally are enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

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

Think not I am what I appear.