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For never saw I mien or face
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered like a random seed,
Remote from men, thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness :
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a mountaineer;
A face with gladness overspread,
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred;
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech,
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life!
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind,
Thus beating up against the wind.
What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful?
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways and dress,
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess !
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality :
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighborhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder brother I would be,
Thy father, anything to thee.
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place;
Joy have I had; and going hence
I bear away my recompense.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes:
Then why should I be loath to stir ?
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old
As fair before me shall behold
As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And thee, the spirit of them all!
Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there. Epitaph on an Infant.
Now I lay me down to take my sleep,
pray the Lord my soul to keep : If I should die before I wake,
pray the Lord my soul to take.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
King John, Act iii. Sc. 4.
'Whom the gods love die young," was said of Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.
Don Juan, Cant. iv. Stan. 12.
You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage;
And if I chance to fall below
Demosthenes or Cicero,
But strive still to be a man before your mother.
Motto of No. III. Connoisseur.
Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy mother.
Love's Cure, Act ii. Sc. 2. BEAUMONT and FLETCHER.
Don't view me with a critic's eye,
But pass my imperfections by.
Large streams from little fountains flow,
Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
Lines written for a School Declamation.
The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.
I pray ye, flog them upon all occasions.
It mends their morals, never mind the pain.
Don Juan, Cant. ii.
Mid plasures and palaces shough so humble; there's
Be it ever
no place like home
to hallow as there
A charm from the sky which, seek through the world, is never met with elsewhere!
sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home! there's no place like home!
John Howard Fayne. /
The shore is lined with anchored Slipch,
One ship the line to eye will miss;
But God will know which auction slips
And sand his angels one with this
[HELEN HUNT JACKSON.]