The arena swims around him - he is gone,/ Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

A light broke in upon my brain, - / It was the carol of a bird; / It ceased, and then it came again, / The sweetest song ear ever heard.

I swims in the Tagus all across at once, and I rides on an ass or a mule, and swears Portuguese, and have got a diarrhea and bites from the mosquitoes. But what of that? Comfort must not be expected by folks that go a pleasuring.

I cannot help thinking that the menace of Hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.

For Freedom's battle once begun, / Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, / Though baffled oft is ever won.

I have seen a thousand graves opened, and always perceived that whatever was gone, the teeth and hair remained of those who had died with them. Is not this odd? They go the very first things in youth and yet last the longest in the dust.