The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.

Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science

If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.

Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!