For Love Will Still Be Lord Of

O, What A Tangled Web We Weave When First We Practise To Deceive!

The Heart-sick Faintness Of The Hope Delayed!

Threatened Folk Live Long.

Guilt, Though It May Attain Temporal Splendor, Can Never Confer Real Happiness; The Evil Consequences Of Our Crimes Long Survive Their Commission, And, Like The Ghosts Of The Murdered, Forever Haunt The Steps Of The Malefactor; While The Paths Of Virtue, Though Seldom Those Of Worldly Greatness, Are Always Those Of Pleasantness And Peace.

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.