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And thou, O Trouble?—nothing can suppose,
(And sure the power of wisdom only knows,)
What need requireth thee:

So free and liberal as thy bounty flows,
Some necessary cause must surely be.
But disappointments, pains, and every woe
Devoted wretches feel,

The universal plagues of life below,

Are mysteries still 'neath Fate's unbroken seal.

And what is Death?-is still the cause unfound?
That dark, mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long, and ling'ring sleep, the weary crave.
And Peace?—where can its happiness abound?
No where at all, save Heaven, and the grave.

Then what is Life?-When stripp'd of its disguise,
A thing to be desir'd it cannot be ;

Since every thing that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.

'Tis but a trial all must undergo;

To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
Such happiness vain man's denied to know,
Until he's call'd to claim it in the skies.

CLARE.

THE wise and active conquer difficulties
By daring to attempt them :-sloth and folly
Shiver and shrink at sight of toil and hazard,
And make the impossibility they fear.

THERE are few spirits which cannot be overcome if dexterously attacked; but with the fierce and daring, force and violence will generally be found useless. It should be remembered that, like madness, these disturbed characters see not things as they are; and, like martyrs and fanatics, they attach a degree of glory to every privation and punishment in the noble cause of opposition to what, they conceive, unjust authority. Such a character is open and guileless; but unhappily, the very circumstance that makes it sincere renders it also, if misturned, desperate and hardened.

SEE! how round yon branching elm the ivy Twines its green chain, and poisons what supports it. Not less injurious to the blooming shoots

Of growing love, is sickly jealousy.

MASON.

SLEEP steals on us even like his brother Death,
We know not when it comes-we know it must come:
We may affect to scorn and to contemn it,
For 'tis the highest pride of human misery,
To say it knows not of an opiate :
Yet the reft parent, the despairing lover,
Even the poor wretch who waits for execution,
Feels this oblivion, against which he thought
His woes had armed his senses, steal upon him,
And through the fenceless citadel-the body,
Surprise that haughty garrison-the mind.

HERBERT.

EVERY desire is a viper in the bosom, who, while he was chill, was harmless; but when warmth gave him strength, exerted it in poison.

DR. JOHNSON.

REAL glory

Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves :
And without that the conqueror is nought

But the first slave.

THOMSON.

HABITUAL evils change not on a sudden,
But many days must pass and many sorrows:
Conscious remorse and anguish must be felt
To curb desire, to break the stubborn will,
And work a second nature in the soul,
Ere virtue can resume the place she lost :
"Tis else dissimulation.

ROWE.

TRUE Courage is not the brutal force
Of vulgar heroes, but the firm resolve
Of virtue and of reason. He who thinks
Without their aid to shine in deeds of arms
Builds on a sandy basis his renown :
A dream, a vapour, or an ague fit
May make a coward of him.

WHITEHEAD.

L'AMOUR propre est, hélas ! le plus sot des amours.

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay here yet awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,

And so to bid good night?

'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth,
Merely to shew your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave;

And, after they have shewn their pride

Like you awhile, they glide

Into the grave.

HERRICK

THIS truth how certain when this life is o'er;
We die to live, and live to die no more.

C

LET Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which he cannot destroy; Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features which joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd, You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

MOORE.

WHAT strange creatures are the greatest part of mankind! what a composition of contradictions! always pursuing happiness, yet generally through such ways as lead to misery: admiring every virtue in others, indulging themselves in every vice: fond of fame, yet labouring for infamy.

DODLEY.

THE honours of a name 'tis just to guard;
They are a trust but lent us, which we take,
And should, in reverence to the donor's fame,
With care transmit them down to other hands.

SHIRLEY.

FELL star of fate! thou never canst employ
A torment teeming with severer smart,
Than that which Memory pours upon the heart,
While clinging round the sepulchre of Joy!

STRANGFORD'S CAMOENS.

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