| |
| | But dreams full oft are found of real events |
| The form and shadows. |
| 1 |
| | He is so full of pleasant anecdote; |
| So rich, so gay, so poignant in his wit, |
| Time vanishes before him as he speaks, |
| And ruddy morning through the lattice peeps |
| Ere night seems well begun. |
| 2 |
| | I am as one |
| Who doth attempt some lofty mountain’s height, |
| And having gained what to the upcast eye |
| the summit’s point appear’d, astonish’d sees |
| Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, |
| Towering aloft, as distant as before. |
| 3 |
| | I would, God knows, in a poor woodman’s hut |
| Have spent my peaceful days, and shared my crust |
| With her who would have cheer’d me, rather far |
| Than on this throne; but being what I am, |
| I’ll be it nobly. |
| 4 |
| | She who only finds her self-esteem |
| In others’ admiration, begs an alms; |
| Depends on others for her daily food, |
| And is the very servant of her slaves; |
| Tho’ oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, |
| O’er men she may a childish pow’r exert, |
| Which not ennobles but degrades her state. |
| 5 |
| | Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; |
| Whose sluggish minds, e’en in fair honor’s field, |
| Still on their dinner turn— |
| Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home, |
| And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword. |
| 6 |
| | Stand there, damn’d meddling villain, and be silent; |
| For if thou utt’rest but a single word, |
| A cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, |
| I’ll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, |
| To bellow with the damn’d! |
| 7 |
| | Sweet sleep be with us, one and all! |
| And if upon its stillness fall |
| The visions of a busy brain, |
| We’ll have our pleasure o’er again, |
| To warm the heart, to charm the sight. |
| Gay dreams to all! good night, good night. |
| 8 |
| | That look’d |
| As though an angel, in his upward flight, |
| Had left his mantle floating in mid-air. |
| 9 |
| | The brave man is not he who feels no fear, |
| For that were stupid and irrational; |
| But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, |
| And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from. |
| 10 |
| | The inward sighs of humble penitence |
| Rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal’d hymns |
| Are scatter’d with the sounds of common air. |
| 11 |
| | Think’st thou there are no serpents in the world |
| But those who slide along the grassy sod, |
| And sting the luckless foot that presses them? |
| There are who in the path of social life |
| Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune’s sun, |
| And sting the soul. |
| 12 |
| | This pure air |
| Braces the listless nerves, and warms the blood: |
| I feel in freedom here. |
| 13 |
| | ’Tis ever thus when favours are denied; |
| All had been granted but the thing we beg: |
| And still some great unlikely substitute— |
| Your life, your soul, your all of earthly good— |
| Is proffer’d, in the room of one small boon. |
| 14 |
| | ’Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base; |
| Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, |
| Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh |
| When morning shines upon it. |
| 15 |
| | Twice it call’d, so loudly call’d, |
| With horrid strength, beyond the pitch of nature; |
| And murder! murder! was the dreadful cry. |
| A third time it return’d with feeble strength, |
| But o’ the sudden ceas’d, as though the words |
| Were smother’d rudely in the grappl’d throat, |
| And all was still again, save the wild blast |
| Which at a distance growl’d— |
| Oh! it will never from my mind depart! |
| That dreadful cry, all i’ the instant still’d. |
| 16 |
| | War is honorable |
| In those who do their native rights maintain; |
| In those whose swords an iron barrier are |
| Between the lawless spoiler and the weak; |
| But is, in those who draw th’ offensive blade |
| For added power or gain, sordid and despicable |
| As meanest office of the worldly churl. |
| 17 |
| | Words of affection, howsoe’er express’d, |
| The latest spoken still are deem’d the best. |
| 18 |
| A good man’s prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven’s height, and bring a blessing down. | 19 |
| A willing heart adds feather to the heel, and makes the clown a winged Mercury. | 20 |
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| A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to hear is in immediate danger. | 21 |
| Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole. | 22 |
| Heaven oft in mercy smites, even when the blow severest is. | 23 |
| I believe this earth on which we stand is but the vestibule to glorious mansions through which a moving crowd forever press. | 24 |
| I can bear scorpion’s stings, tread fields of fire, in frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie, be tossed aloft through tracts of endless void, but cannot live in shame. | 25 |
| It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity. | 26 |
| Men’s actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence. | 27 |
| My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate. | 28 |
| O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues hast thou. | 29 |
| Pampered vanity is a better thing perhaps than starved pride. | 30 |
| Some men are born to feast, and not to fight; whose sluggish minds, even in fair honor’s field, still on their dinner turn. | 31 |
| Still on it creeps, each little moment at another’s heels, till hours, days, years, and ages are made up. | 32 |
| The brave man is not he who feels no fear, for that were stupid and irrational; but he whose noble soul its fear subdues, and bravely dares the danger which it shrinks from. | 33 |
| The inward sighs of humble penitence rise to the ear of heaven, when pealèd hymns are scattered with the sounds of common air. | 34 |
| The mind doth shape itself to its own wants, and can bear all things. | 35 |
| The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial; but there doth live a Power that to the battle girdeth the weak. | 36 |
| The visions of a busy brain. | 37 |
| Though duller thoughts succeed, the bliss e’en of a moment still is bliss. | 38 |
| Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked. | 39 |
| To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul; yea, put a bridle in the lion’s mouth, and lead him forth as a domestic cur, these are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty. | 40 |
| Woman’s grief is like a summer storm, short as it is violent. | 41 |
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