Oh Sleep! It Is A Gentle Thing,

Swiftly, Swiftly Flew The Ship, Yet She Sailed Softly Too: Sweetly, Sweetly Blew The Breeze - On Me Alone It Blew.

A Noise Like Of A Hidden Brook In The Leafy Month Of June, That To The Sleeping Woods All Night Singeth A Quiet Tune.

I Have Often Been Surprised That Mathematics, The Quintessence Of Truth, Should Have Found Admirers So Few And So Languid. Frequent Consideration And Minute Scrutiny Have At Length Unravelled The Cause: Viz . That Though Reason Is Feasted, Imagination Is Starved; Whilst Reason Is Luxuriating In Its Proper Paradise, Imagination Is Wearily Travelling On A Dreary Desert.

The First Class Of Readers May Be Compared To An Hour-glass, Their Reading Being As The Sand; It Runs In And Runs Out, And Leaves Not A Vestige Behind. A Second Class Resembles A Sponge, Which Imbibes Everything, And Returns It In Nearly The Same State, Only A Little Dirtier. A Third Class Is Like A Jelly-bag, Which Allows All That Is Pure To Pass Away, And Retains Only The Refuse And Dregs. The Fourth Class May Be Compared To The Slave Of Golconda, Who, Casting Aside All That Is Worthless, Preserves Only The Pure Gems.

A Spring Of Love Gush'd From My Heart, And I Bless'd Them Unaware.