The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.
Hearing often-times the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.