The still small voice of gratitude.

Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.

Any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he heard and saw with veracity.

The time will come, when thou shalt lift thine eyes To watch a long-drawn battle in the skies. While aged peasants, too amazed for words, Stare at the flying fleets of wondrous birds.

The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.