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Pagina 3 - There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot Who do thy work, and know it not: Oh!
Pagina 181 - If any where by chance I might espy The rural poet of the melody : For still methought she sung not far away ; At last I found her on a laurel spray. Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight, Full in a line, against her opposite; Where stood with eglantine the laurel twined; And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd.
Pagina 175 - Whether perfect happiness would be procured by perfect goodness," said Nekayah, "this world will never afford an opportunity of deciding. But this at least may be maintained, that we do not always find visible happiness in proportion to visible virtue. All natural and almost all political evils are incident alike to the bad and good. They are confounded in the misery of a famine and not much distinguished in the fury of a faction; they sink together in a tempest and are driven together from their...
Pagina 275 - There was an old woman, and what do you think? She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink; Victuals and drink were the whole of her diet, And yet this old woman would never be quiet.
Pagina 65 - Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.
Pagina 230 - But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.
Pagina 190 - Retirement then might hourly look Upon a soothing scene, Age steal to his allotted nook Contented and serene ; With heart as calm as lakes that sleep, In frosty moonlight glistening ; Or mountain rivers, where they creep Along a channel smooth and deep, To their own far-off murmurs listening.
Pagina 78 - LET other bards of angels sing, Bright suns without a spot ; But thou art no such perfect thing : Rejoice that thou art not ! Heed not tho' none should call thee fair ; So, Mary, let it be If nought in loveliness compare With what thou art to me. True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved. "WHAT...