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

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

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

To Contemplation's sober eye. / Such is the race of Man.

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, He gained from Heav'n ('t was all he wish'd) a friend.