The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.