The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.

Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.

All we behold is miracle.

It is a terrible thought, that nothing is ever forgotten; that not an oath is ever uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all times, in the wide spreading current of sound; that not a prayer is lisped, that its record is not to be found st

The bird that flutters least is longest on the wing.

Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.

Absence of occupation is not rest.