The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I, No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,Whose truths electrify the sage.

An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.

The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.