A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.

Wisdom married to immortal verse.

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

It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.

Meek Walton's heavenly memory.

There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.

The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.