In The Lost Battle, Borne Down By

Thou And I Are But The Blind Instruments Of Some Irresistible Fatality, That Hurries Us Along, Like Goodly Vessels Driving Before The Storm, Which Are Dashed Against Each Other, And So Perish.

True Love's The Gift Which God Has Given To Man Alone Beneath The Heaven. It Is The Secret Sympathy, The Silver Link, The Silken Tie, Which Heart To Heart, And Mind To Mind, In Body And In Soul Can Bind.

The Misery Of Keeping A Dog Is His Dying So Soon. But, To Be Sure, If He Lived For Fifty Years And Then Died, What Would Become Of Me?

Meat Eaten Without Either Mirth Or Music Is Ill Of Digestion.

For A Laggard In Love, And A Dastard In War, Was To Wed The Fair Ellen Of Lochinvar.