But with morning cool repentance came.

Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.

Call it not vain: they do not err Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies.

The paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, are always those of pleasantness and peace.

The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.

Now, it is well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable etiquette.

I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!