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13. There are smiles and tears in the mother s eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies;
Oh, heaven of bliss! when the heart overflows
With the rapture a mother only knows!



1. There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.


2. O momentary grace of mortal man,

Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
Ready with every nod to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.


3. '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.


4. No trifle is so small as what obtains,

Save that which loses favour: 't is a breath
Which hangs upon a smile! A look, a word,
A frown, the air-built tower of fortune shakes,
And down the unsubstantial fabric falls.


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1. Our sensibilities are so acute,

The fear of being silent makes us mute.


2. Yet what is wit, and what the poet's art?
Can genius shield the vulnerable heart?
Ah no! where bright imagination reigns,
The fine-wrought spirit feels acuter pains;
Where glow exalted sense and taste refin'd,
There keener anguish rankles in the mind;
There feeling is diffus'd through every part,
Thrills in each nerve, and lives in all the heart;
And those, whose generous souls each tear would keep
From others' eyes, are born themselves to weep.


3. The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till wak'd and kindled by the master's spell,
And feeling hearts-touch them but lightly-pour
A thousand melodies unheard before.

ROGERS' Human Life. 4. Admire exalt-despise-laugh-weep-for here There is much matter for all feeling.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

5. What we can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

BYRON'S Childe Harold. 6. Striking th' electric chain wherewith we're darkly bound. BYRON'S Childe Harold.

7. There are some feelings time cannot benumb.

8. The keenest pangs the wretched find,
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemploy'd.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

9. The deepest ice that ever froze
Can only o'er the surface close;
The living stream lies quick below,
And flows, and cannot cease to flow.

10. Oh! life is a waste of wearisome hours,
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ;
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers,
Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

BYRON'S Giaour.

BYRON'S Parisina.

11. Dried hastily the teardrop from her cheek, And signified the vow she could not speak.

12. I felt to madness! but my full heart gave No utterance to the ineffable within.



Words were too weak: they were unknown; but still
The feeling was most poignant.






1. Of constancy no root infix'd,
That either they love nothing, or not long.


We in vain the fickle sex pursue,
Who change the constant lover for the new.

3. She was fair-and my passion begun; She smil'd-and I could not but love; She is faithless-and I am undone.

4. Inconstant as the passing wind,
As winter's dreary frost unkind ;
To fix her, 't were a task as vain
To count the April drops of rain.

5. Ladies whose love is constant as the wind.

6. She will, and she will not-she grants, denies, Consents, retracts, advances, and then flies.








1. The hounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.




2. If all the year were playing holiday,
To sport would be as tedious as to work.

3. I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
surge most swoln that met him.

4. The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.

6. Listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.


8. With what delight the rapid course I view!
How does my eye the circling race pursue!
He snaps deceitful air with empty jaws,
The subtle hare darts swift beneath his paws;


5. In wrestling, nimble, and in running, swift;

In shooting, steady, and in swimming, strong;
Well made to strike, to leap, to throw, to lift,

And all the sports that shepherds are among.
SPENSER'S Astrophel.



7. Far up the stream the twisted hair he throws,
Which down the murmuring current quickly flows,
When, if or chance or hunger's powerful sway
Directs the roving trout this fatal way,
He greedily sucks in the twining bait,
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat.
Now, happy fisherman, now twitch the line!
How the rod bends! Behold the prize is thine.
GAY'S Rural Sports.

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