Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and Music in its roar: II love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

A pretty woman is a welcome guest.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print; A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.

My very chains and I grew friends.

Whatever creed be taught or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.

Fare thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well.