Happy it were for us all if we bore prosperity as well and as wisely as we endure adverse fortune.

Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live; Not where I love, but where I am, I die.

How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures; nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven: In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark blue depths; Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is night!

Thou hast been called, O sleep, the friend of woe, But 'tis the happy that have called thee so.

Happy it were for us all if we bore prosperity as well and as wisely as we endure adverse fortune.

For society, of all places I have ever been, Norwich is the best.

Oh, when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then for pains and fears, The day of woe, the watchful night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight?