Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.

The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.

A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.

Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.

The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.