That fills with light our stormy sky.
Army Hymn.
How patient Nature smiles at Fame!
The weeds that strewed the victor’s way,
Feed on his dust to shroud his name,
Green where his proudest towers decay.
A Roman Aqueduct.
It is likely that the language will shape itself by larger forces than phonography and dictionary-making. You may spade up the ocean as much as you like, and harrow it afterward if you can, but the moon will still lead the tides, and the winds will form their surface.—The Professor at the Breakfast-table.
Joy smiles in the fountain,
Health flows in the rills,