How vain is life! which rightly we compare to flying posts, that haste away, to plants, that fade with the declining day, to clouds, that sail amidst the yielding air, till by extension into that they flow, or, scattering on the world below, are lost and gone, ere we can say they were, to autumn-leaves, which every wind can chance, to rising...Learn More

If past the hazard of his tenderest years, neither in thoughtless sleep oppressed, nor poisoned with a tainted breast, loosed from the infant bands and female cares, a studious boy, advanced beyond his age, Wastes the dim lamp, and turns the restless page. For some loved book prevents the rising day, and on it, stolen aside, bestows the hours of...Learn More