Tirocinium.
Shine by the side of every path we tread
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
Retirement.
Built God a church, and laughed His word to scorn.
How sweet, how passing sweet is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper, Solitude is sweet.
Conversation.
A fool must now and then be right, by chance.