There Is No Instinct Like That Of

War, War Is Still The Cry,-"war Even To The Knife!"

Where Are The Forms The Sculptor's Soul Hath Seized? In Him Alone, Can Nature Show As Fair?

He Was A Man Of His Times. With One Virtue And A Thousand Crimes. (the Corsair)

To What Gulfs A Single Deviation From The Track Of Human Duties Leads Even Those Who Claim The Homage Of Mankind As Their Born Due, And Find It, Till They Forfeit It Themselves!

By Heaven! It Is A Splendid Sight To See For One Who Hath No Friend, No Brother There.