Monastic brotherhood, upon rock Aerial.

Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!

Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.

That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.

My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.

The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.