« PreviousContinue »
Vicar of Wakefield - Continued.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
Ode to Independence.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
Reliques of English Poetry. The Baffled Knight.
He that wold not when he might,
He shall not when he wolda.
The Friar of Orders Gray.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
For violets plucked the sweetest showers
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
One foot on sea, and one on shore,
From Byrd's Psalmes, Sonets, etc., 1588.
My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far exceeds all earthly bliss,
That God and Nature hath assigned.
Though much I want that most would have,
*My mind to me an empire is
While grace affordeth health.
ROBERT SOUTHWELL. 1560-1595.
Guy of Gisborne.
He that had neyther been kithe nor kin
Death, a Poem. Line 154.
Millions a hero.
The Minstrel. Book i. St. 1.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar?
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
He thought as a sage, but he felt as a man.
Epigram. The Bucks had dined.
How hard their lot who neither won nor lost.
The Rosciad. Line 322.
He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.
But spite of all the criticizing elves,
Those who would make us feel - must feel themselves.
The tree of deepest root is found
True as a needle to the pole,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
Freedom has a thousand charms to show, That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
The Progress of Error.
How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam, Excels a dunce, that has been kept at home.
Just knows and knows no more, her Bible true, A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew.
An idler is a watch that wants both hands;
The Yearly Distress.
A kick, that scarce would move a horse,
Book i. The Sofa.
Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature.