Imatges de pàgina
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4. Fear, guilt, despair, and moon-struck frenzy, rush
On voluntary death; the wise, the brave,
When the fierce storms of fortune round 'em roar,
Combat the billows with redoubled force.

5. To cut his throat a brave man scorns;
So, instead of his throat, he cuts - his corns.

FENTON.

BUTLER'S Hudibras.

6. He with delirious laugh the dagger hurl'd,
And burst the ties that bound him to this world.

7.

CAMPBELL'S Pleasures of Hope.

I mean not

That poor-soul'd piece of heroism, self-slaughter;
Oh no; the miserablest day we live,

There's many a better thing to do than die!

SUMMER. (See AUTUMN.)

SUN. (See MOON.)

G. DARLEY.

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2. Shame on those breasts of stone, that cannot melt
In soft adoption of another's sorrow!

3. Oh! ask not, hope thou not too much
Of sympathy below:

Few are the hearts whence one same touch

Bids the sweet fountain flow.

AARON HILL.

MRS. HEMANS.

4. There's nought in this bad world like sympathy;
'Tis so becoming to the soul and face

Sets to soft music the harmonious sigh,

And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

5. I know thee not—and yet our spirits seem
Together link'd by sympathy and love,
And, like the mingled waters of a stream,
Our thoughts and fancies all united rove.

6. I know thee not

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MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

I never heard thy voice;
Yet, could I choose a friend from all mankind,

Thy spirit high should be my spirit's choice,

Thy heart should guide my heart, thy mind, my mind.

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1. What war so cruel, or what siege so sore,
As that which strong temptation doth apply
Against the fort of reason evermore,

To bring the soul into captivity?

SPENSER'S Fairy Queen.
2. Think not that fear is sacred to the storm;

Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate.
Is Heaven tremendous in its frown? Most sure;
And in its favour formidable too.

Its favours here are trials, not rewards.

3. But Satan now is wiser than of

4.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.

yore,

And tempts by making rich, not making poor.

There are crimes,

Which Nature cannot master or forbear.

Made venial by the occasion, and temptations,

POPE.

BYRON.

5. It reign'd in Eden in that heavy hour

When the arch tempter sought our mother's bower,
In thrilling charms her yielding heart assail'd,
And e'en o'er dread Jehovah's word prevail'd.

SPRAGUE'S Curiosity.

6. There the fair tree in fatal beauty grew,
And hung its mystic apples to the view.

SPRAGUE'S Curiosity.

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THIRST-THOUGHT - TIME.

THIRST.

1. That panting thirst, which scorches in the breath
Of those that die the soldier's fiery death,
In vain impels the burning mouth to crave
One drop- the last- to cool it for the grave.

2. The incessant fever of that arid thirst

BYRON'S Lara.

Which welcomes, as a well, the clouds that burst
Above their naked heads, and feels delight
In the cold drenchings of the stormy night;
And from the outspread canvas gladly wrings
A drop, to moisten life's all-gasping springs.

BYRON'S Island.

3. A small glass, and thirsty! be sure never ask it; Man might as well serve up his soup in a basket.

LEIGH HUNT · From the Italian.

THOUGHT.-(See MIND.)

TIME.

1. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.

SHAKSPEARE.

2. The greatest schemes that human wit can forge, Or bold ambition dares to put in practice, Depend upon our husbanding a moment.

3. Think we, or think we not, Time hurries on
With a resistless, unremitting stream;

Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief,
That slides his hand under the miser's pillow,
And carries off his prize.

ROWE.

BLAIR'S Grave.

4. The bell strikes one.

But from its loss.

Is wise in man.

We take no note of time
To give it then a tongue,
As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departing hours:

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.

YOUNG'S Night Thoughts. I

5. Oh Time! thou beautifier of the dead,Adorner of the ruin comforter

6.

And only healer when the heart hath bled-
Time! the corrector when our judgments err,
The test of truth, love, sole philosopher!

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

Years steal

Fire from the mind, as vigour from the limb.

7. Art is long, and time is fleeting,

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

8. Like the swell of some sweet tune, Morning rises into noon,

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

May glides onward into June.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

9. Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career,

Dark, stern, and pitiless, and pauses not

Amid the mighty rocks that strew his path,
To sit and muse, like other conquerors,
Upon the fearful ruin he hath wrought.

G. D. PRENTICE.

10. Compar'd with thee, even centuries in their might
Seem but like atoms in the sun's broad ray;
Thou sweep'st them on in thy majestic flight,
Scattering them from thy plumes like drops of spray,
Cast from the ocean in its scornful play.

MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY.

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