The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from
He that will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for others' good, is a poor, frozen churl
Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!/ And if upon its stillness fall/ The visions of a busy brain,/ We'll have our pleasure o'er again,/ To warm the heart, to charm the sight,/ Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.
This will be triumph! this will be happiness! yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.
O! who shall lightly say that fame/ is nothing but an empty name?
What custom hath endeared We part with sadly, though we prize it not
He was not all a father's heart could wish;/ But oh, he was my son! my only son.
I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
Pampered vanity is a better thing perhaps than starved pride.
Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod, And sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting the soul.
The tyrant now Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend He now dare trust.
Oh, swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note, Soft moves the dipping oar!