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Monuments themselves memorials need.
No class escapes them--from the poor man's pay
The nostrum takes no trifling part away;
Time, too, with cash is wasted; 'tis the fate
Of real helpers, to be called too late;
This find the sick, when (time and patience gone)
Death with a tenfold terror hurries on.
O days remember'd well! remember'd all!
The bitter sweet, the honey and the gall;
Those garden rambles in the silent night,
Those trees so shady, and that moon se bright,
That thickset alley by the arbor clos'd,
That woodbine seat where we at last repos'd;
And then the hopes that came and then were gone,
Quick as the clouds beneath the moon past on.
Oh how the passions, insolent and strong,
Bear our weak minds their rapid course along;
Make us the madness of their will obey;
Then die and leave us to our griefs a prey!
Secrets with girls, like guns with boys, are never valued till they make a noise.
Soldiers in arms! Defenders of our soil!
Who from destruction save us; who from spoil
Protect the sons of peace, who traffic or who toil;
Would I could duly praise you, that each deed
Your foe's might honor, and your friends might read.
Such harmony in motion, speech and air,
That without fairness, she was more than fair.
The gentle fair on nervous tea relies,
Whilst gay good-nature sparkles in her eyes;
An inoffensive scandal fluttering round,
Too rough to tickle, and too light to wound.
There is no mind so weak and powerless as not to have its inclinations, and none so guarded as to be without its prepossessions.
Thy face the index of a feeling mind.
'Tis easiest dealing with the firmest mind--
More just when it resists, and, when it yields, more kind.
To every class we have a school assign'd,
Rules for all ranks, and food for every mind:
Yet one there is, that small regard to rule
Or study pays, and still is deem'd a school;
That, where a deaf, poor, patient widow sits,
And awes some thirty infants as she knits;
Infants of humble, busy wives, who pay
Some trifling price for freedom through the day.
At this good matron's hut the children meet,
Who thus becomes the mother of the street.
Vice in its own pure native ugliness.
Whatever amuses, serves to kill time, to lull the faculties, and to banish reflection. Whatever entertains, usually awakens the understanding or gratifies the fancy. Whatever diverts, is lively in its nature, and sometimes tumultuous in its effects.
When winter stern, his gloomy front uprears,
A sable void the barren earth appears;
The meads no more their former verdure boast,
Fast-bound their streams, and all their beauty lost;
The herds, the flocks, in icy garments mourn, and wildly murmur for the Spring's return;
From snow-topp'd hills the whirlwinds keenly blow,
Howl through the woods, and pierce the vales below,
Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies.
Wine is like anger; for it makes us strong,
Blind and impatient; and it leads us wrong;
The strength is quickly lost; we feel the error long.
- [Wine and Spirits]
Come, now again, thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;
We cannot heal the throbbing heart
Will we discern the wounds within.
- Hell of Justice (pt. II) [Sin]
Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies,
Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare,
And shed their substance on the floating air.
- Inebriety [Snow]
Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier views,
Life's little cares and little pains refuse?
Shall he not rather feel a double share
Of mortal woe, when doubly arm'd to bear?
- Library [Life]
Her air, her manners, all who saw admired;
Courteous though copy, and gentle, though retired:
The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd,
And ease of her heart her every look convey'd.
- Parish Register (pt. II) [Women]
Life's bloomy flush as lost.
- Parish Register (pt. II, 453) [Life]
In her experience all her friends relied,
Heaven was her help and nature was her guide.
- Parish Register (pt. III) [Experience]
Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ;
His wife he cabined with him and his boy,
And seemed that life laborious to enjoy.
- Peter Grimes [Fishing]
Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe!
- Struggles of Conscience (last lines)
That all men would be cowards if they dare,
Some men we know have courage to declare.
- Tale I--The Dumb Orators (l. 11)
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