The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

I shall be but a shrimp of an author.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

One principal characteristic of vice in the present age is the contempt of fame.