Power, Safely Defied, Touches Its Downfall.

Forget All Feuds, And Shed One English Tear O'er English Dust. A Broken Heart Lies Here.

Perhaps No Person Can Be A Poet, Or Can Even Enjoy Poetry, Without A Certain Unsoundness Of Mind.

All The Walks Of Literature Are Infested With Mendicants For Fame, Who Attempt To Excite Our Interest By Exhibiting All The Distortions Of Their Intellects And Stripping The Covering From All The Putrid Sores Of Their Feelings.

In The Infancy Of Civilization, When Our Island Was As Savage As New Guinea, When Letters And Arts Were Still Unknown To Athens, When Scarcely A Thatched Roofed Hut Stood On What Was Later The Site Of Rome, This Contemned People Had Their Fenced Cities And Cedar Palaces, Their Splendid Temple, Their Fleets Of Merchant Ships, Their Schools Of Sacred Learning, Their Great Statesmen And Soldiers, Their Natural Philosophers, Their Historians And Their Poets.

He Was A Rake Among Scholars, And A Scholar Among Rakes.