I Cannot Tell How The Truth May

But Search The Land Of Living Men, Where Wilt Thou Find Their Like Again?

Do Not Christians And Heathens, And Jews And Gentiles, And Poets And Philosophers, Unite In Allowing The Starry Influences?

Blessed Be His Name, Who Hath Appointed The Quiet Night To Follow The Busy Day, And The Calm Sleep To Refresh The Wearied Limbs And To Compose The Troubled Spirit.

Where, Where Was Roderick Then? One Blast Upon His Bugle Horn Were Worth A Thousand Men.

There Never Will Exist Anything Permanently Noble And Excellent In The Character Which Is A Stranger To Resolute Self-denial.