For What Were All These Country Patriots

I Love The Language, It Sounds As If It Should Be Writ On Satin With Syllables Which Breathe Of The Sweet South

Never To Talk To Ones Self Is A Form Of Hypocrisy

Mark! Where His Carnage And His Conquests Cease, He Makes A Solitude And Calls It-peace!

Father Of Light! Great God Of Heaven! Hear'st Thou The Accents Of Despair? Can Guilt Like Man's Be E'er Forgiven? Can Vice Atone For Crimes By Prayer.

Be Warm, Be Pure, Be Amorous, But Be Chaste.