In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
Cats are a very mysterious kind of folk. There is always more passing in their minds than we are aware of.
Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.
In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
Art thou a friend to Roderick?
A good deal of philanthropy arises in general from mere vanity and love of distinction gilded over to others and to themselves with some show of benevolent sentiment.