Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.

Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

What female heart can gold despise? What cat 's averse to fish?

There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument.

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.