Darkness. I had a dream which was not all a dream. She walks in beauty, like the night Fare thee Well. Fare thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well. The Waltz. Hands promiscuously applied, Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side. DON JUAN Canto i. St. 22. But, O ye lords of ladies intellectual! Inform us truly, have they not henpecked you all? Don Juan-Continued. Canto i. St. 117. Whispering I will ne'er consent, consented. Canto xiii. St. 95. Society is now one polished horde, Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored. 'Tis strange Canto xiv. St. 101. but true; for truth is always strange, Stranger than fiction. Canto xv. St. 13. The Devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, Memoranda from his Life. I awoke one morning and found myself famous. JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 1795-1820. The American Flag. When Freedom from her mountain height She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. JOHN KEATS. 1796-1820. Endymion. Line 1. A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. St. Agnes' Eve. Stanza 27. Music's golden tongue Flattered to tears this aged man and poor. Stanza 30. And lucent sirups, tinct with cinnamon. Ode on a Grecian Urn. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared Beauty is truth, truth beauty,- that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Hyperion. Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir. Then felt I like some watcher of the skies CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823. 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! ROBERT POLLOK. 1798-1827. The Course of Time. Book iv. Line 689. He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane And played familiar with his hoary locks.44 Book viii. Line 616. He was a man Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven To serve the Devil in. Book viii. Line 632. With one hand he put A penny in the urn of poverty, And with the other took a shilling out. THOMAS HOOD. 1798-1845. The Death-Bed. We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied; We thought her dying when she slept, |