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Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Lady Clara Vere de Vere.
blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'T is only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.
Recollections of the Arabian Nights.
Of good Haroun Alraschid.
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
Richelieu. Act i. Sc. 2. Beneath the rule of entirely great The pen is mightier than the sword.
Sonnet to Haydon.
Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings.
When a new planet swims into his ken;
He stared at the Pacific - and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
The Burial of Sir John Moore. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note.
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!
Book iv. Line 689.
He was a man
Book viïi. Line 632.
With one hand he put A penny
in the urn of poverty, And with the other took a shilling out.
Her breathing soft and low,
Kept heaving to and fro.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied ;
The Bridge of Sighs.
Take her up tenderly,
Alas! for the rarity
Even God's providence
By the gusty thieves,
Getteth short of leaves.
Song of the Shirt. It is not linen you 're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives.
My tears must stop, for every drop,
Hinders needle and thread.
Ode to Melancholy. And there is ev'n a happiness That makes the heart afraid.
There's not a string attuned to mirth,
Withered and shaken,
I remember, I remember.
Miss Kilmansegg. Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap
In imperceptible water.