How Vast A Memory Has Love!

True Ease In Writing Comes From Art, Not Chance, As Those Move Easiest Who Have Learned To Dance.

Soft O'er The Shrouds Aerial Whispers Breathe, That Seemed But Zephyrs To The Train Beneath.

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

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast; Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest. The Soul, Uneasy, And Confin'd From Home, Rest And Expatiates In A Life To Come. Lo, The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way; Yet Simple Nature To His Hope Has Giv'n, Behind The Cloud-topp'd Hill, An Humbler Heav'n.

But To The World No Bugbear Is So Great, As Want Of Figure And A Small Estate.