Chapter L "Hopes, of all passions, most befriend us here; Joy has her tears, and Transport has her death: Hope, like a cordial, innocent, tho' strong, Man's heart at once inspirits and serenes; Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys, 'Tis all our present state can safely bear: Health to the frame and vigour to the mind, And to the modest eye, chastised delight, Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet, 'Tis man's full cup-his paradise below."
"Newton Forster"
Frederick Marryat
Move, you angels of speed, across the white serenes.
"The Secret of the Creation"
Howard D. Pollyen