Though The Day Of My Destiny 's

The Castled Crag Of Drachenfels, Frowns O'er The Wide And Winding Rhine, Whose Breast Of Waters Broadly Swells Between The Banks Which Bear The Vine, And Hills All Rich With Blossom'd Trees, And Fields Which Promise Corn And Wine, And Scatter'd Cities Crowning These, Whose Far White Walls Along Them Shine.

What Is The End Of Fame? 'tis But To Fill A Certain Portion Of Uncertain Paper: Some Liken It To Climbing Up A Hill, Whose Summit, Like All Hills, Is Lost In Vapour: For This Men Write, Speak, Preach, And Heroes Kill, And Bards Burn What They Call Their "midnight Taper," To Have, When The Original Is Dust, A Name, A Wretched Picture, And Worse Bust.

...and These Vicissitudes Come Best In Youth; For When They Happen At A Riper Age, People Are Apt To Blame The Fates, Forsooth, And Wonder Providence Is Not More Sage. Adversity Is The First Path To Truth: He Who Hath Proved War, Storm, Or Woman's Rage, Whether His Winters Be Eighteen Or Eighty, Has Won Experience Which Is Deem'd So Weighty.

Friendship Is Love Without His Wings!

Reason Is So Unreasonable, That Few People Can Say They Are In Possession Of It.