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

Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue.

For there no yew nor cypress spread their glom But roses blossom'd each rustic tomb.

Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!

The popularity of that baby-faced boy, who possessed not even the elements of a good actor, was a hallucination in the public mind, and a disgrace to our theatrical history.

Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.

What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.