The Assailant Is Often In The Right;

Why Cannot We Be Delighted With An Author, And Even Feel A Predilection For Him, Without A Dislike Of Others? An Admiration Of Catullus Or Virgil, Of Tibullus Or Ovid, Is Never To Be Heightened By A Discharge Of Bile On Horace.

Many Love Music But For Music's Sake, Many Because Her Touches Can Awake Thoughts That Repose Within The Breast Half-dead, And Rise To Follow Where She Loves To Lead. What Various Feelings Come From Days Gone By! What Tears From Far-off Sources Dim The Eye! Few, When Light Fingers With Sweet Voices Play, And Melodies Swell, Pause, And Melt Away, Mind How At Every Touch, At Every Tone, A Spark Of Life Hath Glistened And Hath Gone.

There Is A Gravity Which Is Not Austere Nor Captious, Which Belongs Not To Melancholy Nor Dwells In Contraction Of Heart: But Arises From Tenderness And Hangs Upon Reflection.

The Tomb Is The Pedestal Of Greatness. I Make A Distinction Between God's Great And The King's Great.

This Is The Pleasantest Part Of Life. Oblivion Throws Her Light Coverlet Over Our Infancy; And, Soon After We Are Out Of The Cradle We Forget How Soundly We Had Been Slumbering, And How Delightful Were Our Dreams. Toil And Pleasure Contend For Us Almost The Instant We Rise From It: And Weariness Follows Whichever Has Carried Us Away. We Stop Awhile, Look Around Us, Wonder To Find We Have Completed The Circle Of Existence, Fold Our Arms, And Fall Asleep Again.