What millions died that Caesar might be great!
— Thomas Campbell
The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
And muse on Nature with a poet's eye.
To bear is to conquer our fate.
I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
Tomorrow let us do or die!
Ye are brothers, ye are men, and we conquer but to save.
Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue.
