Ye are brothers, ye are men, and we conquer but to save.

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.

Tomorrow let us do or die!

Ye are brothers, ye are men, and we conquer but to save.

To bear is to conquer our fate.

And muse on Nature with a poet’s eye.

Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue.

I’ll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.

What millions died that Caesar might be great!

An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I’m sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.

The patriot’s blood is the seed of Freedom’s tree.