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Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss.
Thus, as the stream and ocean greet,
With waves that madden as they meet--
Thus join the bands whom mutual wrong,
And fate and fury drive along.
Thy day without a cloud bath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguish'd not decay'd!
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
Thy fanes, thy temple, to the surface bow,
Commingling slowly with heroic earth,
Broke by the share of every rustic plough:
So perish monuments of mortal Birth,
To perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth.
Time, the corrector when our judgments err, the test of truth and love; sole philosopher, for all besides are sophists.
'Tis best to pause, and think, ere you rush on.
'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious,
For tea and coffee leave us much more serious.
'Tis said the lion will turn and flee
From a maid in the pride of her purity.
'Tis strange, but true: for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction.
'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
'Tis very certain the desire of life
To be precocious
Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.
To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind; all are not fit with them to stir and toil.
To no men are such cordial greetings given
As those whose wives have made them fit for heaven.
To pass their lives on fountains and on flowers, and never know the weight of human hours.
To the mind,
Which is itself, no changes bring surprise.
To what gulfs
A single deviation from the track
Of human duties leads even those who claim
The homage of mankind as their born due,
And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!
- [Duty : Guilt]
Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle.
Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of this world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.
Tully was not so eloquent as thou, thou nameless column with the buried base.
'Twas a public feast and public day--
Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold,
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer.
And everybody out of their own sphere.
'Twas strange--in youth all action and all life,
Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
Woman--the field--the ocean--all that gave
Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,
In turn he tried--he ransack'd all below,
And found his recompense in joy or woe,
No tame trite medium; for his feelings sought
In that intenseness an escape from thought:
The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed
On that the feebler elements hath rais'd;
The rapture of his heart had look'd on high,
And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky:
Chain'd to excess, the slave of such extreme,
How woke he from the wildness of that dream,
Alas! he told not--but he did awake
To curse the wither'd heart that would not break.
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh;
Oh, more than tears of blood can tell
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in the word farewell--farewell.
Upon her face there was the tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife;
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
Vain, froward child of empire, say,
Are all thy playthings snatched away?
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