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Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written tablets of the brain;
Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart?

Gives courage to the weak. Resolv'd to die,
He fears no more, but rushes on his foes,
And deals his deaths around.

SOMERVILE's Chase. Lean abstinence, pale grief, and haggard care, The dire attendants of forlorn despair.

PATTISON. So farewell, hope, and with hope farewell fear; Farewell remorse ; all good to me is lost; Evil, be thou my good!

Milton's I aradise Lost. My loss is such as cannot be repair'd, And to the wretched, life can be no mercy.

DRYDEN. Talk not of comfort—'t is for lighter ills ; I will indulge my sorrow, and give way To all the pangs and fury of despair.

ADDISON's Cato But desperate is their doom whom doubt has driven

To censure fate, and pious hope forego;
Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven,

Perfection, beauty, life, they never know,
But frown on all who pass, a monument of woe.

BEATTIE's Minstrela
Mine after-life! what is mine after-life?
My day is closed! the gloom of night is come!
A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate !


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Alas! the breast that inly bleeds,
Ilas nought to fear from outward blow
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
Cares little into what abyss.

BYRON'S Giaour.
Go, when the hunter's hand hath wrung
From forest cave her shrieking young,
Ar.d calm the lonely lioness-
But soothe not, mock not my distress!

BYRON'S Giaour
Despair defies even despotism; there is
That in my heart would make its


thro' hosts With levellid spears.

Byron's Two Foscari

My mother earth!
And thou, fresh breaking day! and you, ye mountains !
Why are ye beautiful! I cannot love ye!
And thou, the bright eye of the universe,
That onen'st over all, and unto all
Art a delight—thou shin'st not on my heart !

Byron's Manfred.
My solitude is solitude no more,
But peopled with the furies; I have gnash'd
My teeth in darkness till returning morn,
'Then curs'd myself at sunset! I have pray'd
For madness as a blessing—'t is denied ine!

Byron's Manfred.
They, who have nothing more to fear, may well
Indulge a smile at that which once appallid,
As children at discover'd bugbears.

Byron's Sardanapalus.
Hope is a willing slave-despair is free.

R. Dawes,
One long, loud shriek swelld on the air,
The thrilling cry of dark despair,
And all was sad and silent there.




She stands, as stands the stricken deer

Check'd midway in the fearful chase,
When bursts upon


and ear The gaunt, grey robber, baying near

Between it and its hiding-placeWhile still behind, with yell and blow, Sweeps, like a storm, the coming foe.

J. G. WHITTIKR. The fond illusions I have cherish'd

Anticipations once so fair-
Calmly I hear they all have perish'd-
But 't is the calmness of despair.

J. T. WATSON. What next? I know not, do not care

Come pain or pleasure, weal or woe, There's nothing which I cannot bear, Since I have borne this withering blow.



Who, then, can strive with strong necessity,
That holds the world in his still changing state ?

SPENSER's Fairy Queen.
What fate imposes, men must needs abide ;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.

SHAKSPEARE. "T is necessity To which the gods must yield; and I obey, Till I redeem it by some glorious way.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Alas ! what stay is there in human state, Or who can shun inevitable fate? The doom was written, the decree was past, Ere the foundations of the world were cast.




Fatal necessity is never known,
Until it strike; and, till that blow be come,
Who falls, 's by false visions overthrown.

When fear admits no hope of safety, then
Necessity makes dastards valiant men.

Weil, well—the world must turn upon its axis,

And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love, and pay our taxes
And, as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails.

Byron's Don Juan.
We are the victims of its iron rule,
The warm and beating human heart its tool;
And man, immortal, god-like, but its fool.

Fate is above us all;
We struggle, but what matters our endeavour?
Our doom is gone beyond our own recall;
May we deny or mitigate it ?–Never!

While warmer souls command, nay, make their fate,
Thy fate made thee, and forc'd thee to be great.



See the wide waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad sepulchre appears !
With nodding arches, broken temples spread !
tomhs row vanish’d, like their dead!

Pope's Moral Essays.
They tore away sume weeds, 't is true,
Bu: all the flowers were ravish'd too.




High towers, fair temples, goodly theatres,

Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces, Fine streets, brave houses, sacred sepulchres,

Sure gates, sweet gardens, slately galleries All these, (Oh, pity !) now are turn’d to dust, And overgrown with black Oblivion's rust.

SPENSER's Fairy Queen 'T'heir sceptres broken and their swords in rust.

Byron's Childle Harold Where her high steeples whilom used to stand,

On which the lordly falcon wont to tower,
There now is but a heap of lime and sand,
For the screech-owl to build her baleful bower.

SPENSER’s Ruins of Time.

Let come what will, I mean to bear it out,
And either live with glorious victory,
Or die with fame, renown’d for chivalry.
He is not worthy of the honey-comb,
That shuns the hive, because the bees have stings.

Experience teacheth us
That resolution's a sole help at need.

SHAKSPEARE Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; For what I will, I will--and there's an end.

SHAKSLEARE. Although T'he air of Paradise did fan the house, And angels offic'd all, I will be gone.

SHAKSPEARE. I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace.


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