Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair.

Both wit and understanding are trifles without integrity; it is that which gives value to every character. The ignorant peasant, without fault, is greater than the philosopher with many; for what is genius or courage without a heart?

To the last moment of his breath, On hope the wretch relies; And even the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.

Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!

The person whose clothes are extremely fine I am too apt to consider as not being possessed of any superiority of fortune, but resembling those Indians who are found to wear all the gold they have in the world in a bob at the nose.

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

Turn, gentle Hermit of the Dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.