Where, where was Roderick then? One blast upon his bugle horn Were worth a thousand men.

"Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion.

In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.

Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.

There is a southern proverb - fine words butter no parsnips.

God forgive me for having thought it possible that a schoolmaster could be out and out a rational being.

November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and sear.