Fragments and Epigrams

The Sword sang on the barren heath, The Sickle in the fruitful field: The Sword he sang a song of death, But could not make the Sickle yield.

Great things are done when men and mountains meet; These are not done by jostling in the street.

The errors of a wise man make your rule, Rather than the perfections of a fool.

Some people admire the work of a fool, For it’s sure to keep your judgment cool: It does not reproach you with want of wit; It is not like a lawyer serving a writ.

He’s a blockhead who wants a proof of what he can’t perceive, And he’s a fool who tries to make such a blockhead believe.

The Angel that presided at my birth Said: “Little creature, formed of joy and mirth, Go, live without the help of any thing on earth.”

At a friend’s errors anger show, Mirth at the errors of a foe. Anger and wrath my bosom rends: I thought them the errors of friends. But all my limbs with warmth glow, I find them the errors of the foe.