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

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

Stood for his country's glory fast, And nailed her colors to the mast!

What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it. Dull to the contemporary who reads it and invaluable to the student, centuries afterwards, who treasures it.

Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.

Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think of all my wrongs My blood is liquid flame!

In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster.