Thy Decay's Still Impregnate With Divinity.

But I Had Not Quite Fixed Whether To Make Him [don Juan] End In Hell-or In An Unhappy Marriage,-not Knowing Which Would Be The Severest.

My Altars Are The Mountains And The Ocean.

Fair Greece! Sad Relic Of Departed Worth! Immortal, Though No More! Though Fallen, Great!

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.