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.

The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.

She stood breast-high amid the corn Clasp'd by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

Oh! God! That bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap!

A moment's thinking is an hour in words.

The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.