The Malicious Sneer Is Improperly Called Laughter.

All The Sciences Are, In Some Measure, Linked With Each Other, And Before The One Is Ended, The Other Begins.

In All The Silent Manliness Of Grief.

Well Had The Boding Tremblers Learned To Trace The Day's Disasters In His Morning Face.

The Watch-dog's Voice That Bay'd The Whispering Wind, And The Loud Laugh That Spoke The Vacant Mind.

Wept O'er His Wounds, Or Tales Of Sorrow Done, Shoulder'd His Crutch, And Shew'd How Fields Were Won.