But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.
To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.