I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.

O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! 'O mercy!' to myself I cried, 'If Lucy should be dead!'

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

In this dim world of clouding cares, We rarely know, till wildered eyes See white wings lessening up the skies, The angels with us unawares.

Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, Like other farmers, flourish and complain.

The man who has received a benefit ought always to remember it, but he who has granted it ought to forget the fact at once.