And Life 's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.

Glory, Like The Phoenix 'midst Her Fires, Exhales Her Odours, Blazes, And Expires.

He Who Is Only Just Is Cruel; Who Upon The Earth Would Live Were All Judged Justly?

Old Man! 'tis Not Difficult To Die.

Romances Paint At Full Length People's Wooing. But Only Give A Bust Of Marriages.