The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.

Far from the world I walk, and from all care.

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.

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