There Is A Pleasure In Poetic Pains

If Hindrances Obstruct The Way, Thy Magnanimity Display. And Let Thy Strength Be Seen: But O, If Fortune Fill Thy Sail With More Than A Propitious Gale, Take Half Thy Canvas In.

Vice Stings Us Even In Our Pleasures, But Virtue Consoles Us Even In Our Pains.

Just Knows, And Knows No More, Her Bible True,- A Truth The Brilliant Frenchman Never Knew.

Reasoning At Every Step He Treads, Man Yet Mistakes His Way, Whilst Meaner Things, Whom Instinct Leads, Are Rarely Known To Stray.

My Soul Is Sick With Every Day's Report Of Wrong And Outrage With Which Earth Is Filled.