And moody madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.
The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.
Rich with the spoils of time.
Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and midnight murder fed.
Youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.