Where thou art gone, adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.

O solitude, where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

Remorse begets reform.

But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought Of freedom, in that hope itself possess All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts, The surest presage of the good they seek.

Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.

A fool must now and then be right, by chance

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.