I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!

Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, A million scarce would quench desire; Still would I steep my lips in bliss, And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be, Still would I kiss and cling to thee: Nought should my kiss from thine dissever, Still would we kiss and kiss for ever; E'en though the numbers did exceed The yellow harvest's countless seed; To part would be a vain endeavour: Could I desist? -ah! never-never.

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.

Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.

Alas! how deeply painful is all payment!