I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; It was a childish ignorance, But now 't is little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.

No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.

How bless'd the heart that has a friend. A sympathizing ear to lend.

There is not a string attuned to mirth but has its chord of melancholy.

A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.

Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!