Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase is fruits of innocence and blessedness.

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.

Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.

All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.

Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.