Her Track, Where'er The Goddess

Where Ignorance Is Bliss, 'tis Folly To Be Wise.

The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.

Now As The Paradisiacal Pleasures Of The Mahometans Consist In Playing Upon The Flute And Lying With Houris, Be Mine To Read Eternal New Romances Of Marivaux And Crebillon.

Youth Smiles Without Any Reason. It Is One Of Its Chiefest Charms.

To Contemplation's Sober Eye, Such Is The Race Of Man; And They That Creep, And They That Fly, Shall End Where They Began, Alike The Busy And The Gay, But Flutter Through Life's Little Day.