"O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 22 Survey our empire, and behold our home! These are our realms, no limit to their sway,— Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey."

"Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried."

"The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse."

"She was a form of life and light That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alla given, To lift from earth our low desire."

"I die — but first I have possessed, And come what may, I have been blessed."

"The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name."

"Better to sink beneath the shock Than moulder piecemeal on the rock."

"The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed."

"And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, And every woe a tear can claim Except an erring sister's shame."

"For freedom's battle, once begun, Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won."

"Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee?"

"Such is the aspect of this shore; 'T is Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there."

"He who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled,— The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress, Before decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers."

"Hark! to the hurried question of despair: "Where is my child?"—an echo answers, "Where?""

"Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease! He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace!"

"Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life, The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!"

"The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle."

"Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart, confess The might, the majesty of loveliness?"

"The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face, 19 The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,— And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!"

"Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?"

"Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!"

"Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires, And decorate the verse herself inspires: This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,— Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best."

"'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low: So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart, And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart."

"Oh, Amos Cottle! Phœbus! what a name!"

"Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye."

"As soon Seek roses in December, ice in June; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff; Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that's false, before You trust in critics, who themselves are sore."

"With just enough of learning to misquote."

"A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure — critics are ready-made."

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

"I'll publish right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let satire be my song."

"What say you to such a supper with such a woman?"

"Friendship is Love without wings."

"I loved my country, and I hated him."

"Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones, Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones."

"Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred."

"Yet in my lineaments they trace Some features of my father's face."

"It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word."

"Lord of himself,—that heritage of woe!"

"Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship."

"They never fail who die In a great cause."

"Hands promiscuously applied, Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side."

"A great poet belongs to no country; his works are public property, and his Memoirs the inheritance of the public."

"I awoke one morning and found myself famous."

"Seek out — less often sought than found — A Soldier's Grave, for thee the best; Then look around and choose thy Ground, And take thy Rest."