O Solitude, Where Are The Charms That

A Tale Should Be Judicious, Clear, Succinct; The Language Plain, And Incidents Well Link'd; Tell Not As New What Ev'ry Body Knows; And, New Or Old, Still Hasten To A Close.

Necessity Invented Stools, Convenience Next Suggested Elbow-chairs, And Luxury The Accomplish'd Sofa Last.

This Fond Attachment To The Well-known Place Whence First We Started Into Life's Long Race, Maintains Its Hold With Such Unfailing Sway, We Feel It E'en In Age, And At Our Latest Day.

But Oars Alone Can Ne'er Prevail To Reach The Distant Coast; The Breath Of Heaven Must Swell The Sail, Or All The Toil Is Lost.

Truth Is The Golden Girdle Of The Globe.