Imatges de pÓgina
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Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed,
Make enemies of nations who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.

Cowper's Task, b. 2.

In every heart

Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war,
Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze.

Ibid, b. 5.

Ah! why will kings forget that they are men?
And men that they are brethren? Why delight
In human sacrifice? Why burst the ties
Of Nature, that should knit their souls together
In one soft bond of amity and love?

Yet still they breathe destruction, still go on
Inhumanly ingenious to find out

New pains for life, new terrors for the grave,
Artificers of death!

Porteus's Death.

The autumnal ruins had beaten to the earth
The unreaped harvest, from the village church
No even-song bell was heard, the shepherd's dog
Prey'd on the scatter'd flock, for there was now
No hand to feed him, and upon the hearth,
Where he had slumber'd at his master's feet,
The rank weed flourished.

Southey's Joan of Arc.

The shout

Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray
Of dissonant instruments, the clang of arms,
The shriek of agony, the groan of death,
In one wild uproar and continued din,
Shake the still air; while, overhead, the Moon,
Regardless of the stir of this low world,
Holds on her heavenly way.

Southey's Madoc:


There leviathan, Hugest of living creatures, on the deep Stretch'd like a promontory sleeps or swims, And seems a moving land, and at his gills Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out a sea.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 7.


The new made widow too I've sometimes spied.
Sad sight! slow-moving o'er the prostrate dead:
Listless she crawls along in doleful black,
While bursts of sorrow gush from either eye,
Fast falling down her now untasted cheek.
Prone on the lonely grave of the dear man
She drops; whilst busy meddling memory,
In barbarous succession, musters up
The past endearments of their softer hours,
Tenacious of the theme.

Blair's Grave.

All the long summer did she live in hope
Of tidings from the war; and as at eve,
She with her mother at the cottage door,
Sat in the sunshine, if a traveller

Appear'd at distance coming o'er the brow,
Her eye was on him, and it might be seen

By the flush'd cheek what thoughts were in her heart,
And by the deadly paleness which ensued,

How her heart died within her. Southey's Joan of Arc.


A wife becomes the truest, tend'rest friend,
The balm of comfort, and the source of joy!

Thro' every various turn of life the same.

Savage's Sir Thomas Overbury.

Can she be faithful to her luckless lord
Who will be absent in affliction's hour?
Is it not then the lenient hand of love
Proves its best office? Then the virtuous wife
Shines in the full meridian of her truth,

And claims her part of sorrow.

Havard's King Charles I.

Zounds, lady! do not give such heavy blows;
I'm not your husband, as belike you guess.

Joanna Baillie's Basil, a. 3, s. 3.

What thou bid'st

Unargued I obey; so God ordains;

God is thy law; thou mine: to know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise.

Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 4.

Sole partner, and sole part, of all these joys,
Dearer thyself than all.

Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self,
Thy wish exactly to thy heart's desire.

For nothing lovelier can be found

In woman, than to study household good,


Ibid. b. 8.

And good works in her husband to promote. Ibid. b. 9.


Ye too, ye winds! that now begin to blow,
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you.
Where are your stores, ye powerful beings! say,
Where your aerial magazines reserv'd,

To swell the brooding terrors of the storm?
In what far-distant region of the sky,

Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 'tis calm?
Thomson's Seasons-Winter.

Many are the notes,

Which in his tuneful course the wind draws forth, From rocks, woods, caverns, heaths, and dashing shores. Wordsworth.


One sip of this

Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.

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Let each indulge his genius, each be glad,
Jocund and free, and swell the feast with mirth;
The sprightly bowl shall chearfully go round,
None shall be grave, or too severely wise:
Losses and disappointments, cares, and poverty,
The rich man's insolence, and great man's scorn,
In wine shall be forgotten all. To-morrow
Will be too soon to think, and to be wretched.

Rowe's Fair Penitent.

O when we swallow down

Intoxicating wine, we drink damnation ;
Naked we stand the sport of mocking fiends,
Who grin to see our noble nature vanquish'd,
Subdued to beasts.

Charles Johnson's Wife's Reick.

Let all my

soldiers quaff

That gen'rous juice, by juggling priests deny'd,
Lest it should help to whet our understandings,
And ripen reason, to see through their crafts.

Darcy's Love and Ambition

Wine cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes weariness forget his toil,
And fear her danger : opens a new world
When this, the present, falls.

Byron's Sardanapalus, a. 1, s. 2.

Ah! sly deceiver! branded o'er and o'er,
Yet still believ'd! exulting o'er the wreck
Of sober vows!

Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health, b. 4.


'Tis done! dread winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!

How dumb the tuneful!

Horror wide extends

His desolate domain ! Behold, fond man!

See here thy pictur'd life pass some few years,
Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober Autumn fading into age,

And pale concluding Winter comes at last,

And shuts the scene. Thomson's Seasons-Winter.

Behold, the joyous winter days,

Frosty, succeed; and thro' the blue serene,
For sight too fine, the ethereal mitre flies;
Killing infectious damps, and the spent air
Storing afresh with elemental life.

Close crowds the shining atmosphere; and binds
Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace,
Constringent; feeds and animates our blood;
Refines our spirits, thro' the new-strung nerves,
In swifter sallies darting to the brain;
Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool,
Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.


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