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To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more
To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.
Tell me, thou old man, worthy of a child's bauble.
Tell me, thou old man, worthy of a child's bauble.
To have nothing is not poverty.
[Lat., Non est paupertas, Nestor, habere nihil.]
To have nothing is not poverty.
[Lat., Non est paupertas, Nestor, habere nihil.]
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none.
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none.
Better times perhaps await us who are now wretched.
Better times perhaps await us who are now wretched.
Sweet is revenge--especially to women.
Sweet is revenge--especially to women.
How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine to--not defend.
How sweet the task to shield an absent friend!
I ask but this of mine to--not defend.
He that's long a giving, knowes not how to give.
He that's long a giving, knowes not how to give.
