War Is The Trade Of Kings.

Happy, Happy, Happy Pair! None But The Brave Deserves The Fair.

New Vows To Plight, And Plighted Vows To Break.

Interest Makes All Seem Reason That Leads To It.

Seas Are The Fields Of Combat For The Winds; But When They Sweep Along Some Flowery Coast, Their Wings Move Mildly, And Their Rage Is Lost.

Imagining Is In Itself The Very Height And Life Of Poetry, Which, By A Kind Of Enthusiasm Or Extraordinary Emotion Of The Soul, Makes It Seem To Us That We Behold Those Things Which The Poet Paints.