Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

There Is Not A String Attuned To Mirth But Has Its Chord Of Melancholy.

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

Ben Battle Was A Soldier Bold, And Used To War's Alarms, But A Cannon-ball Took Off His Legs, So He Laid Down His Arms.

To Attempt To Advise Conceited People Is Like Whistling Against The Wind.