Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.
What I have to say is far more important than how long my eyelashes are.
Do not Christians and Heathens, and Jews and Gentiles, and poets and philosophers, unite in allowing the starry influences?
Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.
One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name
Steady of heart and stout of hand.