A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.

Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

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.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.