Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

Nor In The Critic Let The Man Be Lost.

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?

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

Be Silent Always When You Doubt Your Sense.

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.