Don't Let Us Make Imaginary Evils, When

What Cities, As Great As This, Have... Promised Themselves Immortality! Posterity Can Hardly Trace The Situation Of Some. The Sorrowful Traveller Wanders Over The Awful Ruins Of Others... Here Stood Their Citadel, But Now Grown Over With Weeds; There Their Senate-house, But Now The Haunt Of Every Noxious Reptile; Temples And Theatres Stood Here, Now Only An Undistinguished Heap Of Ruins.

The Volumes Of Antiquity, Like Medals, May Very Well Serve To Amuse The Curious, But The Works Of The Moderns, Like The Current Coin Of A Kingdom, Are Much Better For Immediate Use.

Whatever Be The Motives Which Induce Men To Write,--whether Avarice Or Fame,--the Country Becomes More Wise And Happy In Which They Most Serve For Instructors.

Why Was This Heart Of Mine Formed With So Much Sensibility! Or Why Not My Fortune Adapted To Its Impulses! Tenderness Without A Capacity Of Relieving Only Makes The Man Who Feels It More Wretched Than The Object Which Sues For Assistance.

And Still They Gazed, And Still The Wonder Grew, That One Small Head Could Carry All He Knew.