Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.

Art thou a friend to Roderick?

Recollect that the Almighty, who gave the dog to be companion of our pleasures and our toils, hath invested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit.

Whose lenient sorrows find relief, whose joys are chastened by their grief.

Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.

Good wine needs neither bush nor preface to make it welcome. And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd.

Look back, and smile on perils past.