A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew. Canto i. St. 21. On his bold visage middle age Canto ii. St. 22. Some feelings are to mortals given Canto iv. St. 1. The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, Canto iv. St. 30. Art thou a friend to Roderick? Canto v. St. 10. Come one, come all! this rock shall fly And the stern joy which warriors feel The Lord of the Isles. Canto v. Stanza 18. O many a shaft, at random sent, many a word at random spoken May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken! Old Mortality. Vol. ii. Chapter xxi. Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! The Monastery. Vol. i. Chapter xii. Within that awful volume lies THOMAS MOORE. 1780-1852. Lalla Rookh. The Fire-Worshippers. 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. Farewell! But whenever you welcome the hour. You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. Ballad Stanzas. I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled The Blue Stocking. To sigh, yet feel no pain, To weep, yet scarce know why; This World is all a Fleeting Show. For man's illusion given; The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow There's nothing true but Heaven. Oft in the Stilly Night. Oft in the stilly night E'er slumber's chain has bound me, Of other days around me. REGINALD HEBER. 1783-1826. Palestine. No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung; Christmas Hymn. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! First Sunday after Epiphany. No. ii. By cool Siloam's shady rill *Altered in later editions to No workman steel, no ponderous axes rung, Silently as a dream the fabric rose, No sound of hammer or of saw was there. The Winter Morning Walk, B. V. COWPER. Seventh Sunday after Trinity. When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil. At a Funeral. Death rides on every passing breeze, He lurks in every flower. 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. Thus heavenly hope is all serene, Missionary Hymn. From Greenland's icy mountains, JONATHAN M. SEWALL. 1748-1808. Epilogue to Cato. WRITTEN FOR THE BOW STREET THEATRE, PORTSMOUTH, N. H. |