Hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!
What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities.
A mother's pride, a father's joy.
Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er.
I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd.