And Little Eagles Wave Their Wings In

Lulled In The Countless Chambers Of The Brain, Our Thoughts Are Linked By Many A Hidden Chain; Awake But One, And In, What Myriads Rise!

Virtue May Choose The High Or Low Degree, 'tis Just Alike To Virtue, And To Me; Dwell In A Monk, Or Light Upon A King, She's Still The Same Belov'd, Contented Thing.

The Best Way To Prove The Clearness Of Our Mind, Is By Showing Its Faults; As When A Stream Discovers The Dirt At The Bottom, It Convinces Us Of The Transparency And Purity Of The Water.

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.

All Nature Is But Art Unknown To Thee.