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Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
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,
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
Recollections of the Arabian Nights.
For it was in the golden prime
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.
Richelieu. Act ii. Sc. 2.
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword.
That large utterance of the early gods.
Sonnet to Haydon.
Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
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!
The Course of Time.
Book iv. Line 689.
He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane
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.
We watched her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;
We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.
The Bridge of Sighs.
Take her up tenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Even God's providence
Boughs are daily rifled
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,
When he is forsaken,
Withered and shaken,
What can an old man do but die?
I remember, I remember.
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 't is little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.
Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap In imperceptible water.
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold !
Bright and yellow, hard and cold.