O dearer far than light and life are dear.

The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

For by superior energies; more strict affiance in each other; faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.

That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Me this uncharted freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.