Call It Not Vain: They Do Not

If You Once Turn On Your Side After The Hour At Which You Ought To Rise, It Is All Over. Bolt Up At Once.

Never Was Flattery Lost On A Poet's Ear; A Simple Race, They Waste Their Toil For The Vain Tribute Of A Smile.

The Way Was Long, The Wind Was Cold, The Minstrel Was Infirm And Old; His Withered Cheek, And Tresses Gray, Seemed To Have Know A Better Day.

We Are Like The Herb Which Flourisheth Most When It Is Most Trampled On.

To Be Ambitious Of True Honor, Of The True Glory And Perfection Of Our Natures, Is The Very Principle And Incentive Of Virtue.