Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

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