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Nothing Can Be More Shocking And Horrid Than One Of Our Kitchens Sprinkled With Blood, And Abounding With The Cries Of Expiring Victims Or With The Limbs Of Dead Animals Scattered Or Hung Up Here And There.

-Alexander Pope

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Nothing Can Be More

Alexander Pope

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Nothing Can Be More Shocking And Horrid Than One Of Our Kitchens Sprinkled With Blood, And Abounding With The Cries Of Expiring Victims Or With The Limbs Of Dead Animals Scattered Or Hung Up Here And There.

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What So Pure, Which Envious Tongues Will Spare? Some Wicked Wits Have Libell'd All The Fair, With Matchless Impudence They Style A Wife, The Dear-bought Curse, And Lawful Plague Of Life; A Bosom Serpent, A Domestic Evil, A Night Invasion, And A Mid-day Devil; Let Not The Wise These Sland'rous Words Regard, But Curse The Bones Of Ev'ry Living Bard.

Virtuous And Vicious Every Man Must Be, Few In The Extreme, But All In The Degree.

Gentle Dullness Ever Loves A Joke.

If Faith Itself Has Different Dresses Worn, What Wonder Modes In Wit Should Take Their Turn?

The Bookful Blockhead Ignorantly Read, With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head, With His Own Tongue Still Edifies His Ears, And Always List'ning To Himself Appears. All Books He Reads, And All He Reads Assails.

For Forms Of Government, Let Fools Contest; Whate'er Is Best Administered, Is Best.

What Then Remains, But Well Our Power To Use, And Keep Good-humor Still Whate'er We Lose? And Trust Me, Dear, Good-humor Can Prevail, When Airs, And Flights, And Screams, And Scolding Fail.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought, And Still Appears More Decent As More Suitable; A Vile Conceit In Pompous Words Express'd, Is Like A Clown In Regal Purple Dress'd.

Who Dare To Love Their Country, And Be Poor.

Lulled In The Countless Chambers Of The Brain, Our Thoughts Are Linked By Many A Hidden Chain; Awake But One, And In, What Myriads Rise!

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

But Satan Now Is Wiser Than Of Yore, And Tempts By Making Rich, Not Making Poor.

The Difference Is Too Nice - Where Ends The Virtue Or Begins The Vice.

Women Use Lovers As They Do Cards; They Play With Them A While, And When They Have Got All They Can By Them, Throw Them Away, Call For New Ones, And Then Perhaps Lose By The New All They Got By The Old Ones.

How Glowing Guilt Exalts The Keen Delight!

Learning Is Like Mercury, One Of The Most Powerful And Excellent Things In The World In Skillful Hands; In Unskillful, The Most Mischievous.

Learn To Live Well, Or Fairly Make Your Will; You've Play'd, And Lov'd, And Ate, And Drank Your Fill: Walk Sober Off, Before A Sprightlier Age Comes Titt'ring On, And Shoves You From The Stage.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

Pride, Where Wit Fails, Steps In To Our Defence, And Fills Up All The Mighty Void Of Sense.

Old Politicians Chew On Wisdom Past, And Totter On In Business To The Last.

But Touch Me, And No Minister So Sore. Whoe'er Offends, At Some Unlucky Time Slides Into Verse, And Hitches In A Rhyme, Sacred To Ridicule His Whole Life Long, And The Sad Burthen Of Some Merry Song.

With Sharpen'd Sight Pale Antiquaries Pore, Th' Inscription Value, But The Rust Adore. This The Blue Varnish, That The Green Endears; The Sacred Rust Of Twice Ten Hundred Years.

When To The Permanent Is Sacrificed The Mutable, The Prize Is Thine: The Drop Returneth Whence It Came. The Open Path Leads To The Changeless Change - Non-being, The Glorious State Of Absoluteness, The Bliss Past Human Thought.

I Am His Highness' Dog At Kew; Pray Tell Me, Sir, Whose Dog Are You?

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.

On Wings Of Wind Came Flying All Abroad.

No Craving Void Left Aching In The Soul.

Still When The Lust Of Tyrant Power Succeeds, Some Athens Perishes, Or Some Tully Bleeds.

Health Consists With Temperance Alone.

Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.

You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

At Present We Can Only Reason Of The Divine Justice From What We Know Of Justice In Man. When We Are In Other Scenes, We May Have Truer And Nobler Ideas Of It; But While We Are In This Life, We Can Only Speak From The Volume That Is Laid Open Before Us.

Man, Like The Generous Vine, Supported Lives; The Strength He Gains Is From The Embrace He Gives.

Is There A Parson Much Bemused In Beer, A Maudlin Poetess, A Rhyming Peer, A Clerk Foredoom'd His Father's Soul To Cross, Who Pens A Stanza When He Should Engross?

Every Man Has Just As Much Vanity As He Wants Understanding.

Alas! The Small Discredit Of A Bribe Scarce Hurts The Lawyer, But Undoes The Scribe.

For Forms Of Government Let Fools Contest; Whate'er Is Best Administer'd Is Best. For Modes Of Faith Let Graceless Zealots Fight; His Can't Be Wrong Whose Life Is In The Right. In Faith And Hope The World Will Disagree, But All Mankind's Concern Is Charity.

Conceit Is To Nature What Paint Is To Beauty; It Is Not Only Needless, But It Impairs What It Would Improve.

Who Taught That Heaven-directed Spire To Rise?

Heav'n From All Creatures Hides The Book Of Fate, All But The Page Prescribed, Their Present State: From Brutes What Men, From Men What Spirits Know: Or Who Could Suffer Being Here Below?

O Love! For Sylvia Let Me Gain The Prize, And Make My Tongue Victorious As Her Eyes.

If A Man's Character Is To Be Abused There's Nobody Like A Relative To Do The Business.

For Thee I Dim These Eye And Stuff This Head With All Such Reading As Was Never Read.

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.

In This Commonplace World Every One Is Said To Be Romantic Who Either Admires A Fine Thing Or Does One.

Some Have At First For Wits, Then Poets Passed, Turned Critics Next, And Proved Plain Fools At Last.

Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

Horses (thou Say'st) And Asses Men May Try, And Ring Suspected Vessels Ere They Buy; But Wives, A Random Choice, Untried They Take; They Dream In Courtship, But In Wedlock Wake; Then, Nor Till Then, The Veil's Removed Away, And All The Woman Glares In Open Day.

To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor Wise.

What Is It To Be Wise? 'tis But To Know How Little Can Be Known, To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

But See, The Shepherds Shun The Noonday Heat, The Lowing Herds To Murmuring Brooks Retreat, To Closer Shades The Panting Flocks Remove; Ye Gods! And Is There No Relief For Love?

Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty Boast; But Shall The Dignity Of Vice Be Lost?

All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye That Habitually Compares Everything To Something Better. But By Changing That Habit To Comparing Everything To Something Worse, Even Making It A Game, That Person Can Find Gratitude, Relief And Happiness Where-ever They Go And Whatever They Experience, Guaranteed!

Luxurious Lobster-nights, Farewell, For Sober, Studious Days!

The Greatest Advantage I Know Of Being Thought A Wit By The World Is, That It Gives One The Greater Freedom Of Playing The Fool.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.

See Plastic Nature Working To This End, The Single Atoms Each To Other Tend, Attract, Attracted To, The Next In Place Form'd And Impell'd Its Neighbor To Embrace.

The Lot Of Man - To Suffer And To Die.

Two Women Seldom Grow Intimate But At The Expense Of A Third Person; They Make Friendships As Kings Of Old Made Leagues, Who Sacrificed Some Poor Animal Betwixt Them, And Commenced Strict Allies; So The Ladies, After They Have Pulled Some Character To Pieces, Are From Henceforth Inviolable Friends.

Astrologers That Future Fates Foreshow.

Still Follow Sense, Of Ev'ry Art The Soul, Parts Answering Parts Shall Slide Into A Whole.

It Is Observable That The Ladies Frequent Tragedies More Than Comedies; The Reason May Be, That In Tragedy Their Sex Is Deified And Adored, In Comedy Exposed And Ridiculed.

I Have More Zeal Than Wit.

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

All Nature Mourns, The Skies Relent In Showers; Hushed Are The Birds, And Closed The Drooping Flowers.

Our Judgments, Like Our Watches, None Go Just Alike, Yet Each Believes His Own

In A Sadly Pleasing Strain, Let The Warbling Lute Complain.

These Riches Are Possess'd, But Not Enjoy'd!

If, Presume Not To God To Scan; The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man. Plac'd On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise, And Rudely Great.

So Upright Quakers Please Both Man And God.

Men Must Be Taught As If You Taught Them Not, And Things Unknown Proposed As Things Forgot.

Mankind Is Unamendable.

No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n, Here Brib'd The Rage Of Ill-requited Heav'n; But Such Plain Roofs As Piety Could Raise, And Only Vocal With The Maker's Praise.

And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

Lo! The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

Say, Will The Falcon, Stooping From Above, Smit With Her Varying Plumage, Spare The Dove? Admires The Jay The Insect's Gilded Wings? Or Hears The Hawk When Philomela Sings?

The Spider's Touch, How Exquisitely Fine! Feels At Each Thread, And Lives Along The Line.

Order Is Heaven's First Law; And This Confess, Some Are And Must Be Greater Than The Rest.

Pleasures Are Ever In Our Hands Or Eyes; And When In Act They Cease, In Prospect Rise.

Heaven Forming Each On Other To Depend, A Master, Or A Servant, Or A Friend, Bids Each On Other For Assistance Call, Till One Man's Weakness Grows The Strength Of All.

But See, Orion Sheds Unwholesome Dews; Arise, The Pines A Noxious Shade Diffuse; Sharp Boreas Blows, And Nature Feels Decay, Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

On Her White Breast A Sparkling Cross She Wore, Which Jews Might Kiss And Infidels Adore.

He Who Tells A Lie Is Not Sensible Of How Great A Task He Undertakes; For He Must Be Forced To Invent Twenty More To Maintain That One.

Light Quirks Of Music, Broken And Uneven,make The Soul Dance Upon A Jig To Heav'n.

There Various News I Heard Of Love And Strife,of Peace And War, Health, Sickness, Death, And Life,of Loss And Gain, Of Famine And Of Store,of Storms At Sea, And Travels On The Shore,of Prodigies, And Portents Seen In Air,of Fires And Plagues, And Stars With Blazing Hair,of Turns Of Fortune, Changes In The State,the Fall Of Favourites, Projects Of The Great,of Aid Mismanagements, Taxations New:all Neither Wholly False, Nor Wholly True.

Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled: / The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World!

Aurora Now, Fair Daughter Of The Dawn, Sprinkled With Rosy Light The Dewy Lawn.

Our Business In The Field Of Fight, Is Not To Question, But To Prove Our Might.

While Pensive Poets Painful Vigils Keep, Sleepless Themselves, To Give Their Readers Sleep.

To Be Angry Is To Revenge The Faults Of Others On Ourselves.

The Scripture In Times Of Disputes Is Like An Open Town In Times Of War, Which Serves In Differently The Occasions Of Both Parties.

For When Success A Lover's Toil Attends,few Ask, If Fraud Or Force Attain'd His Ends

All Nature's Diff'rence Keeps All Nature's Peace.

To Observations Which Ourselves We Make, We Grow More Partial For Th' Observer's Sake.

Good Sense, Which Only Is The Gift Of Heaven, And Though No Science, Fairly Worth The Seven.

Virtue May Choose The High Or Low Degree, 'tis Just Alike To Virtue, And To Me; Dwell In A Monk, Or Light Upon A King, She's Still The Same Belov'd, Contented Thing.

Ah! What Avails It Me The Flocks To Keep, Who Lost My Heart While I Preserv'd My Sheep.

Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate And Rot.

The Approach Of Night The Skies Yet Blushing With Departing Light, When Falling Dews With Spangles Deck'd The Glade, And The Low Sun Had Lengthen'd Ev'ry Shade.

What Bosom Beast Not In His Country's Cause?

I Was Not Born For Courts And Great Affairs, But I Pay My Debts, Believe And Say My Prayers.

And Each Blasphemer Quite Escape The Rod, Because The Insult's Not On Man, But God?

Ladies, Like Variegated Tulips, Show 'tis To Their Changes Half Their Charms We Owe.

"with Ev'ry Pleasing, Ev'ry Prudent Part, Say, What Can Chloe Want?"-she Wants A Heart.

Woman's At Best A Contradiction Still.

But Blind To Former As To Future Fate, What Mortal Knows His Pre-existent State?

In Men, We Various Ruling Passions Find; In Women, Two Almost Divide The Kind Those, Only Fixed, They First Or Last Obey, The Love Of Pleasure, And The Love Of Sway.

Our Proper Bliss Depends On What We Blame.

Judge Not Of Actions By Their Mere Effect; Dive To The Center, And The Cause Detect. Great Deeds From Meanest Springs May Take Their Course, And Smallest Virtues From A Mighty Source.

How Instinct Varies In The Grov'ling Swine.

As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows The Tree.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Of It Deeply, Or Taste It Not, For Shallow Thoughts Intoxicate The Brain, And Drinking Deeply Sobers Us Again.

Awake, My St. John! Leave All Meaner Things To Low Ambition And The Pride Of Kings. Let Us (since Life Can Little More Supply Than Just To Look About Us, And To Die) Expatiate Free O'er All This Scene Of Man; A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

Hear How The Birds, On Ev'ry Blooming Spray, With Joyous Musick Wake The Dawning Day.

See Christians, Jews, One Heavy Sabbath Keep, And All The Western World Believe And Sleep.

Who Ne'er Knew Joy But Friendship Might Divide,or Gave His Father Grief But When He Died.

Soft O'er The Shrouds Aerial Whispers Breathe, That Seemed But Zephyrs To The Train Beneath.

A Fellow Feeling Makes Us Wondrous Kind.

There Is No Study That Is Not Capable Of Delighting Us After A Little Application To It.

How Happy Is The Blameless Vestal's Lot? The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot.

The Bookful Blockhead, Ignorantly Read With Loads Of Learned Lumber In His Head.

But Just Disease To Luxury Succeeds, And Ev'ry Death Its Own Avenger Breeds.

Disease And Death

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

No Senses Stronger Than His Brain Can Bear. Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly: What The Advantage, If His Finer Eyes Study A Mite, Not Comprehend The Skies?... Or Quick Effluvia Darting Thro' His Brain, Die Of A Rose, In Aromatic Pain? If Nature Thunder'd In His Opening Ears, And Stunn'd Him With The Music Of The Spheres... Who Finds Not Providence All-good And Wise, Alike In What It Gives, And What Denies?

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise And Rudely Great... He Hangs Between; In Doubt To Act Or Rest; In Doubt To Deem Himself A God, Or Beast; In Doubt His Mind Or Body To Prefer; Born To Die, And Reasoning But To Err.

Go, Wiser Thou! And In Thy Scale Of Sense Weigh Thy Opinion Against Providence.

The Dying Christian To His Soul (1712) -vital Spark Of Heav'nly Flame! Quit, Oh Quit, This Mortal Frame: Trembling, Hoping, Ling'ring, Flying, Oh The Pain, The Bliss Of Dying! Stanza 1.

Do You Find Yourself Making Excuses When You Do Not Perform? Shed The Excuses And Face Reality. Excuses Are The Loser's Way Out. They Will Mar Your Credibility And Stunt Your Personal Growth.

Finding Yourself

But See How Oft Ambition's Aims Are Cross'd, And Chiefs Contend 'til All The Prize Is Lost!

See The Wild Waste Of All-devouring Years! How Rome Her Own Sad Sepulchre Appears, With Nodding Arches, Broken Temples Spread! The Very Tombs Now Vanish'd Like Their Dead!

There Are Certain Times When Most People Are In A Disposition Of Being Informed, And 'tis Incredible What A Vast Good A Little Truth Might Do, Spoken In Such Seasons.

So Man, Who Here Seems Principal Alone, Perhaps Acts Second To Some Sphere Unknown Touches Some Wheel, Or Verges To Some Goal; 'tis But A Part We See, And Not A Whole.

True Self-love And Social Are The Same.

Speed The Soft Intercourse From Soul To Soul, And Waft A Sigh From Indus To The Pole.

A Generous Friendship No Cold Medium Knows, Burns With One Love, With One Resentment Glows.

Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns And Chains.

Count All Th' Advantage Prosperous Vice Attains, 'tis But What Virtue Flies From And Disdains: And Grant The Bad What Happiness They Would, One They Must Want--which Is, To Pass For Good.

E'en Sunday Shines No Sabbath Day To Me.

False Happiness Is Like False Money; It Passes For A Time As Well As The True, And Serves Some Ordinary Occasions; But When It Is Brought To The Touch, We Find The Lightness And Alloy, And Feel The Loss.

The Villain's Censure Is Extorted Praise.

The Way Of The Creative Works Through Change And Transformation, So That Each Thing Receives Its True Nature And Destiny And Comes Into Permanent Accord With The Great Harmony: This Is What Furthers And What Perseveres.

A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

What Dire Offence From Am'rous Causes Springs, What Mighty Contests Rise From Trivial Things.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Happy The Man Whose Wish And Care A Few Paternal Acres Bound, Content To Breathe His Native Air In His Own Ground.

Eye Nature's Walks, Shoot Folly As It Flies, And Catch The Manners Living As They Rise; Laugh Where We Must, Be Candid Where We Can, But Vindicate The Ways Of God To Man.

To Balance Fortune By A Just Expense, Join With Economy, Magnificence.

Who Builds A Church To God And Not To Fame, Will Never Mark The Marble With His Name.

If It Be The Chief Point Of Friendship To Comply With A Friends Motions And Inclinations, He Possesses This In A Eminent Degree; He Lies Down When I Sit, And Walks When I Walk, Which Is More Than Many Good Friends Can Pretend To Do.

Lo! The Poor Indian, Whose Untutored Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind.

Remembrance And Reflection How Allied. What Thin Partitions Divides Sense From Thought.

The Grave Unites; Where E'en The Great Find Rest, And Blended Lie Th' Oppressor And Th' Oppressed!

A Youth Of Frolic, An Old Age Of Cards.

In Faith And Hope The World Will Disagree, But All Mankind's Concern Is Charity.

Praise From A Friend, Or Censure From A Foe, Are Lost On Hearers That Our Merits Know.

As Some To Church Repair, Not For The Doctrine, But The Music There. These Equal Syllables Alone Require, Though Oft The Ear The Open Vowels Tire While Expletives Their Feeble Aid Do Join, And Ten Low Words Oft Creep In One Dull Line.

Not Grace, Or Zeal, Love Only Was My Call, And If I Lose Thy Love, I Lose My All.

Time Conquers All, And We Must Time Obey.

Pretty! In Amber To Observe The Forms Of Hairs, Of Straws, Or Dirt, Or Grubs, Or Worms! The Things, We Know, Are Neither Rich Nor Rare, But Wonder How The Devil They Got There.

Self-love, The Spring Of Motion, Acts The Soul; Reason's Comparing Balance Rules The Whole. Man, But For That No Action Could Attend, And, But For This, Were Active To No End: Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate, And Rot; Or, Meteor-like, Flame Lawless Thro' The Void, Destroying Others, By Himself Destroy'd.

Tis From High Life High Characters Are Drawn; A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn: A Judge Is Just, A Chanc'llor Juster Still; A Gownman Learn'd; A Bishop What You Will; Wise If A Minister; But If A King, More Wise, More Learn'd, More Just, More Ev'rything.

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

Be Niggards Of Advice On No Pretense; For The Worst Avarice Is That Of Sense.

Our Grandsire, Adam, Ere Of Eve Possesst, Alone, And E'en In Paradise Unblest, With Mournful Looks The Blissful Scenes Survey'd, And Wander'd In The Solitary Shade. The Maker Say, Took Pity, And Bestow'd Woman, The Last, The Best Reserv'd Of God.

Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Saying Good Bye

By Music Minds An Equal Temper Know, Nor Swell Too High, Nor Sink Too Low. . . . . Warriors She Fires With Animated Sounds. Pours Balm Into The Bleeding Lover's Wounds.

Charm Strikes The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

Lo, What Huge Heaps Of Littleness Around!

Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf, Not One Will Change His Neighbor With Himself.

Index-learning Turns No Student Pale, Yet Holds The Eel Of Science By The Tail. Index-learning Is A Term Used To Mock Pretenders Who Acquire Superficial Knowledge Merely By Consulting Indexes.

Superficial Knowledge

See! From The Brake The Whirring Pheasant Springs, And Mounts Exulting On Triumphant Wings; Short Is His Joy! He Feels The Fiery Wound, Flutters In Blood, And Panting Beats The Ground.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

All Seems Infected That Th' Infected Spy, As All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye.

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be.

Music Resembles Poetry, In Each Are Nameless Graces Which No Methods Teach, And Which A Master Hand Alone Can Reach.

Passions Are The Gales Of Life.

But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company.

Order Is Heaven's First Law.

I Begin Where Most People End, With A Full Conviction Of The Emptiness Of All Sorts Of Ambition, And The Unsatisfactory Nature Of All Human Pleasures.

Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent, As Half To Show, Half Veil, The Deep Intent.

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain

And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd Shade, Admire New Light Thro' Holes Yourselves Have Made.

Truth Needs Not Flowers Of Speech.

Vice Is A Monster Of So Frightful Mien As To Be Hated Needs But To Be Seen; Yet Seen Too Oft, Familiar With Her Face, We First Endure, Then Pity, Then Embrace.

To Err Is Human; To Forgive, Divine.

Art Still Followed Where Rome's Eagles Flew.

Soft Is The Strain When Zephyr Gently Blows.

And Soften'd Sounds Along The Waters Die: Smooth Flow The Waves, The Zephyrs Gently Play.

First Follow Nature, And Your Judgment Frame By Her Just Standard, Which Is Still The Same: Unerring Nature, Still Divinely Bright, One Clear, Unchanged, And Universal Light, Life, Force, And Beauty Must To All Impart, At Once The Source, And End, And Test Of Art.

In Vain Sedate Reflections We Would Make When Half Our Knowledge We Must Snatch, Not Take.

Is It, In Heav'n, A Crime To Love Too Well?

The Meeting Points The Sacred Hair Dissever From The Fair Head, Forever, And Forever! Then Flashed The Living Lightning From Her Eyes, And Screams Of Horror Rend Th' Affrighted Skies.

Not To Go Back Is Somewhat To Advance, And Men Must Walk, At Least, Before They Dance.

Whoe'er He Be That Tells My Faults, I Hate Him Mortally.

Taste, That Eternal Wanderer, Which Flies From Head To Ears, And Now From Ears To Eyes.

True Politeness Consists In Being Easy One's Self, And In Making Every One About One As Easy As One Can.

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