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And all sad scenes and thoughts and feelings vanish In that sweet sleep no power can ever banish,...
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Once in a stately passion / I cried with desperate grief,/ 'O Lord, my heart is black with guile,/ Of sinners I am chief.'
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Ingratitude is treason to mankind.
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I know no subject more elevating, more amazing, more ready to the poetical enthusiasm, the philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment than the works of nature. Where can we meet such variety, such beauty, such magnificence?
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More firm and sure the hand of courage strikes, when it obeys the watchful eye of caution.
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