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

He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.

I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.

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

The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.

Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.

Wisdom sits with children round her knees.