But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all! And if upon its stillness fall The visions of a busy brain, We'll have our pleasure o'er again, To warm the heart, to charm the sight, Gay dreams to all! good night, good night.

The fears of one class of men are not the measure of the rights of another.

The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.

A willing heart adds feather to the heel.

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field, Still on their dinner turn-- Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home, And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.