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A foot more light, a step more true,
Canto i. St. 21.
Canto ii. St. 22.
Canto iv. St. 1. The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
Canto iv. St. 30. Art thou a friend to Roderick ?
Canto v. St. 10.
And the stern joy which warriors feel
The Lord of the Isles.
Canto v. Stanza 18. O many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark, the archer little meant ! And many a word at random spoken May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken!
Vol. ii. Chapter xxi. Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
Vol. i. Chapter xii. Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries !
Lalla Rookh. The Fire-Worshippers. O, ever thus from childhood's hour
I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower,
But 't was the first to fade away.
The Light of the Harem. Alas ! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, When heaven was all tranquillity.
All that's bright must fade.
The brightest still the fleetest;
But to be lost when sweetest.
Farewell! But whenever you welcome the hour. You may break, you may shatter the vase,
if But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,
“ A heart that was humble might hope for it here."
The Blue Stocking.
To weep, yet scarce know why;
Then throw it idly by.
This World is all a Fleeting Show.
For man's illusion given ;
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow
Oft in the Stilly Night.
E’er slumber's chain has bound me,
Of other days around me.
Christmas Hymn. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid.
First Sunday after Epiphany.
How sweet the lily grows.
* Altered in later editions to
No workman steel, no ponderous axes rung,
The Winter Morning Walk, B. V.
Seventh Sunday after Trinity. When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing
At a Funeral.
No. ii. Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb.
On heavenly hope and earthly hope.
But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
As false and fleeting as ’t is fair.
From India's coral strand,
Roll down their golden sand.
JONATHAN M. SEWALL.
1748 – 1808.
Epilogue to Cato.
No pent up Utica contracts your powers,