Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all

A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.

Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

For all things are less dreadful than they seem.

The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.