Yes, As My Swift Days Near Their

Look On The Grave Where Thou Must Sleep Thy Last, And Strongest Foe; It Is Endurance Not To Weep, If That Repose Seem Woe.

Thoughts Are Tyrants That Return Again And Again To Torment Us.

I Despise Him For Himself, And Hate Him For The Memories He Revives!

He Had Been Content With Daily Labour And Rough Animal Enjoyments, 'till Catherine Crossed His Path. Shame At Her Scorn, And Hope Of Her Approval, Were His First Prompts To Higher Pursuits; And, Instead Of Guarding Him From One And Winning Him To The Other, His Endeavors To Raise Himself Had Produced Just The Contrary Result.

The Winter Wind Is Loud And Wild, Come Close To Me, My Darling Child; Forsake Thy Books, And Mate Less Play; And, While The Night Is Gathering Grey, We'll Talk Its Pensive Hours Away.