Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells.
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.
The Eagle, he was lord above
To be young was very heaven!
Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.