You Beat Your Pate, And Fancy Wit

Where Beams Of Imagination Play, The Memory's Soft Figures Melt Away.

Vice Is A Monster Of So Frightful Mien As To Be Hated Needs But To Be Seen; Yet Seen Too Oft, Familiar With Her Face, We First Endure, Then Pity, Then Embrace.

There Is A Certain Majesty In Simplicity Which Is Far Above All The Quaintness Of Wit.

Where'er You Walk Cool Gales Shall Fan The Glade, Trees Where You Sit Shall Crowd Into A Shade. Where'er You Tread The Blushing Flowers Shall Rise, And All Things Flourish Where You Turn Your Eyes.

Education Forms The Common Mind. Just As The Twig Is Bent, The Tree's Inclined.