It Is Not For Minds Like Ours

From The Mingled Strength Of Shade And Light A New Creation Rises To My Sight, Such Heav'nly Figures From His Pencil Flow, So Warm With Light His Blended Colors Glow. . . . . The Glowing Portraits, Fresh From Life, That Bring Home To Our Hearts The Truth From Which They Spring.

The Waves Were Dead; The Tides Were In Their Grave, The Moon, Their Mistress, Had Expir'd Before; The Winds Were Wither'd In The Stagnant Air, And The Clouds Perish'd; Darkness Had No Need Of Aid From Them-she Was The Universe.

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

It Is Odd But Agitation Or Contest Of Any Kind Gives A Rebound To My Spirits And Sets Me Up For A Time.

Opinions Are Made To Be Changed Or How Is Truth To Be Got At?