With Spots Quadrangular Of Diamond Form, Ensanguined

Visits Are Insatiable Devourers Of Time, And Fit Only For Those Who, If They Did Not That, Would Do Nothing.

Give What Thou Canst, Without Thee We Are Poor; And With Thee Rich, Take What Thou Wilt Away.

In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds: And As The Mind Is Pitch'd The Ear Is Pleased With Melting Airs, Or Martial, Brisk Or Grave; Some Chord In Unison With What We Hear Is Touch'd Within Us, And The Heart Replies.

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.