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make the abhorrent eye Roll back and close.

Affliction is not sent in vain, young man, From that good God, who chastens whom he loves.

Ambition is an idol, on whose wings great minds are carried only to extreme, to be sublimely great or to be nothing.

The solitary Bee Whose buzzing was the only sound of life, Flew there on restless wing, Seeking in vain one blossom where to fix.

If you would be pungent, be brief; for it is with words as with sunbeams--the more they are condensed, the deeper they burn.

Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as charity.

All deception in the course of life is indeed nothing else but a lie reduced to practice, and falsehood passing from words into things.

All deception in the course of life is indeed nothing else but a lie reduced to practice, and falsehood passing from words into things.

The Satanic school.

From his brimstone bed, at break of day, A-walking the Devil is gone, To look at his little snug farm of the world, And see how his stock went on.

Three things a wise man will not trust, The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted faith.

Now, motionless and dark, eluded search Self-shrouded: and anon, starring the sky, Rose like a shower of fire.

And as, when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaves a sober hue display Less bright than they, But when the bare and wintry woods we see, What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?

O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see The Holly-tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves Ordered by an Intelligence so wise As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.

The march of intellect.

Midnight, and yet no eye Through all the Imperial City closed in sleep.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray, Each in the south melting.

She comes majestic with her swelling sails, The gallant Ship: along her watery way, Homeward she drives before the favouring gales; Now flirting at their length the streamers play, And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.

While Washington hath left His awful memory, A light for after times.

And so never ending, But always descending.