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Yet why should death be link'd with fear ?

A single breath-a low-drawn sighCan break the ties that bind us here, And waft the spirit to the sky.

Mrs. A. B. WELEY, There lay the warrior and the son of song,

And there-in silence Hill the judgment-day-
The orator, whose all-persuading tongue
Had mcy'd the nations with resistless sway.

Mrs. Norton's Dream.
Ah! it is sad when one thus link'd departs !
When Death, that mighty sev’rer of true hearts,
Sweeps through the halls so lately loud in mirth,
And leaves pale Sorrow weeping by the hearth!

Mrs. Norton's Dream. Oh! what a shadow o'er the heart is flung, When peals the requiem of the lov'd and young !

W. G. CLARK. Oh, there is a sweetness in beauty's close, Like the perfume scenting the wither'd rose !

His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurra,

And the red field was won ;
They saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.

All at rest now—all dust !-wave flows on wave,
But the sea dries not! What to us the grave ?
It brings no real homily; we sigh,
Pause for a while, and murmur, “All must die!"
Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more,
Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore !

The New Tiinora


And death is terrible the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear,
Of agony, are his !

FITZ-GREEN HALLICK. Here may we muse at this lone midnight hour,

When thoughts steal on us, softly as the tread Of ghostly forms, from yew or cypress bower, Around the gloomy mansions of the dead.

W. C. LODGE, In the deep stillness of that dreamless state Of sleep, that knows no waking joys again.

W. C. LODGE. And Death himself, that ceaseless dun, Who waits on all, yet waits for none.

Methinks it were no pain to die
On such an eve, when such a sky

O'ercanopies the west;
To gaze my fill on yon calm deep,
And, like an infant, sink to sleep

On earth, my mother's breast !


It is sad
To see the light of beauty wane away,
Know eyes are dimming, bosoms shrivelling, foet
Losing their springs, and limbs their lily roundness;
But it is worse to feel our heart-spring gone,
To lose hope, care not for the coming thing,
And feel all things go to decay with us.




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

Byron's Giaour. Such is the aspect of this shore: "T' is Greece, but living Greece no more.

BYRON'S Giaour. The very iron, rock, and steel,

Impervious as they now appear,
The gnawing tooth of Time must feel,
And waste with each succeeding year.



Oh, what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal !

The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
An evil soul producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling face,
A goodly apple, rotten at the core.

SHAKSPEARE. * To the common people, How he did seem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesy !

Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile ;
Ana cry content to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheek with artificial tears ;
And frame my face to all occasions.


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Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep
Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face,
This brow of seeming justice, he did win
The hearts of all that he did angle for.

There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on its outward parts.

You vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
When, I am sure, you hate me in your hearts.

A creature of amphibious naturt
On land a beast, a fish in water,
That always preys on grace or sin,
A sheep without a wolf within.

BUTLER's Hudibras.
An ignis fatuus" that bewitches,
And leads men into pools and ditches.

BUTLER's Hudibras
As thistles wear the softest down,
To hide their prickles till they 're grown,
And then declare themselves, and tear
Whatever ventures to come near :
So a smooth knave does greater feats
Than one that idly rails and threats,
And all the mischief that he meant,
Does, like the rattlesnake, prevent.

Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer:
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.

Before her face her handkerchief she spread,
To hide the flood of tears she did not shed.



"T is not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, While discontent sits heavy at my heart.

ADDISON's Cato. O what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive !

Scott's Marmion. T'hy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit.

Byron to Southey. You're wrong:-he was the mildest manner'd man

That ever scuttled ship, or cut a throat ! With such true breeding of a gentleman, You never could divine his real thought.

Byron's Don Juan. Even innocence itself hath many a wile.

BYRON's Don Juan. Of all who flock'd to swell or see the show,

Who car'd about the corpse ? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the wo;
There throbb’d not there one heart that pierc'd the pall.

BYRON's Vision of Judgment. To sigh, yet feel no pain,

To weep, yet know not why,
To sport an hour with beauty's chain,
Then cast it idly by.

To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lav the heart on none.

Their friendship is a lurking snare,

Their honour but an idle breath,
Their smile, the smile that traitors wear,
Their love is hate, their life is death.


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