The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist; and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances; and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire.

There is a wisdom of the head, and... there is a wisdom of the heart.

Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through the world.

There is a wisdom of the head, and a wisdom of the heart.

The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land, in England there shall be dear bread / in Ireland, sword and brand; and poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand, so rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand, of the fine old English Tory days; hail to the coming time!

A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill; Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them Unhappy folks on shore, now.