Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.

Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.

Vast and deep the mountain shadows grew.

I lived to write, and wrote to live.

Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.

By many a temple half as old as Time.