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23. I know thou dost love me-ay! frown if thou wilt, And curl that beautiful lip,
Which I never can gaze on without the guilt
1. Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail, That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band,
C. F. HOFFMAN.
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. GOLDSMITH'S Deserted Village. 2. Good heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That call'd them from their native walks away! When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like those beyond the western main; And, shudd'ring still to face the distant deep, Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. GOLDSMITH'S Deserted Village.
3. Behold the duteous son, the sire decay'd,
Slow night drew on,
MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
EMULATION - ENEMY - HATRED, &c.
5. Let us depart! the universal sun
Confines not to one land his blessed beams;
6. With all that's ours, together let us rise,
ENEMY-HATRED - MALICE.
1. For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep.
2. He, who would free from malice pass his days, Must live obscure, and never merit praise.
3. Lands, intersected by a narrow frith,
Abhor each other. Mountains, interpos'd,
4. Offend her, and she knows not to forgive;
5. A smile, a ghastly, withering smile, Convulsive o'er her features play'd. MRS. HOLFORD'S Margaret of Anjou.
6. Oh, that we were on the dark wave together,
7. Fear'd, shunn'd, belied, ere youth had lost her force, He hated men too much to feel remorse,
And thought the vice of wrath a sacred call,
8. There was a laughing Devil in his sneer,
There is no passion
If a grasp of yours
Would raise us from the gulf wherein we 're plung'd,
BYRON'S Two Foscari. 11. They'd have him live, because he fears not death. BYRON'S Two Foscari.
BYRON'S Two Foscari.
12. They did not know how hate can burn
The convert of revenge can feel.
BYRON'S Siege of Corinth.
13. Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press,
14. Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
BYRON'S Don Juan.
Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all
In sweet confusion lost, she blush'd assent.
2. 'Twas thy high purity of soul,
3. Then take my flower, and let its leaves Beside thy heart be cherish'd near— While thy confiding heart receives
The thoughts it whispers to thine ear.
W. G. CLARK.
4. "T was then the blush suffus'd her cheek,
LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON.
1. Prosperity is the very bond of love,
Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together,
2. 'Tis not to any rank confin'd,
3. Consider man in every sphere,
Then tell me is your lot severe ?
And pleasure in excess, sparkling, exult
6. But such a sacred and homefelt delight,
5. How beat our hearts, big with tumultuous joy!
7. Whate'er the motive, pleasure is the mark:
YOUNG'S Night Thoughts.