You Should Indeed Have Longer Tarried By

Many Love Music But For Music's Sake, Many Because Her Touches Can Awake Thoughts That Repose Within The Breast Half-dead, And Rise To Follow Where She Loves To Lead. What Various Feelings Come From Days Gone By! What Tears From Far-off Sources Dim The Eye! Few, When Light Fingers With Sweet Voices Play, And Melodies Swell, Pause, And Melt Away, Mind How At Every Touch, At Every Tone, A Spark Of Life Hath Glistened And Hath Gone.

Merit Has Rarely Risen Of Itself, But A Pebble Or A Twig Is Often Quite Sufficient For It To Spring From To The Highest Ascent. There Is Usually Some Baseness Before There Is Any Elevation.

Wrong Is But Falsehood Put In Practice.

We Fancy That Our Afflictions Are Sent Us Directly From Above; Sometimes We Think It In Piety And Contrition, But Oftener In Moroseness And Discontent.

This Is The Pleasantest Part Of Life. Oblivion Throws Her Light Coverlet Over Our Infancy; And, Soon After We Are Out Of The Cradle We Forget How Soundly We Had Been Slumbering, And How Delightful Were Our Dreams. Toil And Pleasure Contend For Us Almost The Instant We Rise From It: And Weariness Follows Whichever Has Carried Us Away. We Stop Awhile, Look Around Us, Wonder To Find We Have Completed The Circle Of Existence, Fold Our Arms, And Fall Asleep Again.