Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The

I Depart, Whither I Know Not; But The Hour's Gone By When Albion's Lessening Shores Could Grieve Or Glad Mine Eye.

But Quiet To Quick Bosoms Is A Hell.

And Life 's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles Near The Brim.

This Is To Be Along; This, This Is Solitude!

A Woman Who Gives Any Advantage To A Man May Expect A Lover - But Will Sooner Or Later Find A Tyrant.