The first cuckoo's melancholy cry.

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.

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.

Free as a bird to settle where I will.

Books are the best type of the influence of the past.

He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.

Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.