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SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

1785-1842.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

LORD BYRON.

1788–1821.

CHILDE HAROLD.

Canto i. St. 9.
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might de-
spair.

Stanza 15.
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.

Canto ii. St. 2.
A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.

Stanza 6.
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul.40

Stanza 23. Ah! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy?

Childe Harold -- Continued.

Stanza 40.
By Heaven ! it is a goodly sight to see
For one who hath no friend, no brother there.

Stanza 73.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth !
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great!

Stanza 76. Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not, Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?

tanza 88. Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.

Age shakes Athena's towers, but spares gray Marathon.

Canto iïi. St. 1.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.

Stanza 21.
There was a sound of revelry by night.

Music arose with its voluptuous swell.

And all went merry as a marriage-bell.

Stanza 28. Battle's magnificently-stern array!

Stanza 55.
The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine.

Childe Harold-Continued.

Stanza 57.

He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.

Stanza 92.
The sky is changed ! and such a change! O night,
And storm, and darkness ! ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark
eye in woman.

Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder.

Stanza 107.
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer.

Stanza 113.
I have not loved the world, nor the world me.

I stood Among them, but not of them.

Canto iv. St. 1.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs.

Stanza 24. The cold — the changed — perchance the dead anew, The mourned — the loved — the lost — too many! yet

how few!

Stanza 49.

Fills The air around with beauty.

Childe Harold - Continued.

Stanza 54. The starry Galileo with his woes.

Stanza 69.
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss.

Stanza 79.
The Niobe of nations! there she stands:

Stanza 109.

Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

Stanza 115.
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.

Stanza 141.
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother - he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.

Stanza 145.
While stan the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ;
And when Rome falls, the world.*

Stanza 177.
O that the desert were my dwelling-place,
With one fair spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And, hating no one, love but only her!

* The exclamation of the pilgrims in the eighth century, as re. corded by the venerable Bede.

Childe Harold - Continued.

Stanza 178.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar.

I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Stanza 179. Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

Stanza 182.
Time writes no wrinkle on thy azure brow
Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Stanza 185.

And what is writ, is writ. Would it were worthier!

THE GIAOUR.

Line 72.
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.

Line 92.
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.

Line 106.
Shrine of the mighty! can it be
That this is all remains of thee?

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