O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.

Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.

I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.

"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light