« EelmineJätka »
8. I sue, and sue in vain; it is most just: When women sue, they sue to be denied.
9. Fee-simple and a simple fee, And all the fees in tail,
Are nothing when compar'd to thee,
10. Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd, And hell no fury like a woman scorn'd.
CONGREVE'S Mourning Bride. 11. O woman, lovely woman! Nature made thee To temper man; we had been brutes without thee! OTWAY'S Venice Preserved. 12. O woman! dear woman! whose form and whose soul Are the light and the life of each spell we pursue, Whether sunn'd in the tropics, or chill'd at the pole, If woman be there, there is happiness too!
13. Oh, say not woman's false as fair,
Ah, no! the love, that first can warm,
No second passion e'er can charm
14. Woman! blest partner of our joys and woes!
Throbs with each pulse, and beats with every thrill!
Wrings the hot drops of anguish from the brow,
Oh! who so welcome and so prompt as thou?
15. The lords of creation men we call,
And they think they rule the whole;
Yet proud as that which the priestess feels,
When she nurses the flame of the shrine where she kneels.
17. I would as soon attempt to entice a star
18. Away, away—you're all the same,
19. Oh! woman wrong'd can cherish hate
Hath left revenge its chosen way,
Which bound her to the traitor's bosom,
Some flowers of old affection blossom.
J. G. WHITTIER.
R. T. PAINE.
21. The man, who sets his heart upon a woman, Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air:
From air he takes his colours, holds his life -
22. "Tis woman's smiles that lull our cares to rest,
They spake not a word,
But, like dumb statues, or breathless stones,
2. And when they talk of him, they shake their heads,
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist,
With wrinkled brow, with nods, with rolling eyes.
3. What mighty contests rise from trivial things!
4. A tale more strange ne'er grac'd the poet's art, And ne'er did fiction play so wild a part.
1. What you keep by you, you may change and mend; But words, once spoke, can never be recall'd.
2. Words are the soul's ambassadors, which go
They are the sole expounders of the mind,
3. But words are things; and a small drop of ink,
All the world's a stage;
2. The world is a great dance, in which we find
4. The world is a well-furnish'd table,
The world's a stormy sea,
Whose every breath is strew'd with wrecks of wretches,
Where guests are promiscuously set:
5. 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates,
At a safe distance, where the dying sound
6. A world, where lust of pleasure, grandeur, gold,— Three demons that divide its realms between them— With strokes alternate buffet to and fro
Man's restless heart, their sport, their flying ball.
What is this world?
What- but a spacious burial-field unwall'd,
8. This world is all a fleeting show,
There's nothing true but Heaven.
9. Yes, fair as the syren, but false as her song,
Are the world's painted shadows, that lure us along;
MRS. S. J. HALE.
WORTH. (See EXCELLENCE.)
WRITERS. (See AUTHORS.)
WRONG. (See INJURY.)
YOUTH. (See CHILDHOOD.)
ZEAL. (See ENTHUSIASM.)