A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
All great poets have been men of great knowledge.
I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.