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Oh, if there were one gentle eye

To weep when I might grieve,
One bosom to receive the sigh

Which surrow oft will heave-
One heart, the ways of life to cheer,

Though rugged they might be-
No language can express how dear
That heart would be to me!

Balfe's Bohernian Girl

-Those tones of dear delight,
The morning welcome, and the sweet good night!


No love is like a sister's love,

Unselfish, free, and pure-
A flame that, lighted from above,

Will guide but ne'er allure.
It knows no frown of jealous fear,

No blush of conscious guile ;
Its wrongs are pardon'd through a tear,

Its hopes crown'd by a smile.

Fry's Leonoru.

The sorrows of thy wounded heart

I'll teach thee to forget,
And win thee back by gentle art

From passion's vain regret.
And Time shall bring on faithful wing,

From o'er the flood of tears,
The pledge of peace, when grief may cease,
And joy light after years

Fry's Leonora.

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-And his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

When forty winters shall besiege your brow,

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day,

As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety.

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit,
The power of beauty I remember yet.

Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.

GOLDSMITH's Deserted Village.
But grant to life some perquisites of joy ;
A time there is, when, like a thrice-told tale,
Long rifled life of sweets can yield no more.

Young's Night Thoughts.
Age sits with decent grace upon his visage,
And worthily becomes his silver locks;
He wears the marks of many years well spent,
Of virtue truth well tried, and wise experience.



The hand of time alone disarms
Her face of its superfluous charms;
But adds, for every grace resign'd,
A thousand to adorn her mind.

Thus aged men, full loth and slow
The vanities of life forego,
And count their youthful follies o’er,
Till memory lends her light no more.

Scott's Rokeby 'Tis the sunset of life gives us mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.

CAMPBELL'S Pleasures of Hope Although my heart in earlier youth

Might kindle with more warm desire, Believe me, I have gain’d in truth

Much more than I have lost in fire. What was but passion's sigh before,

Has since been turn'd to reason's vow, And tho' I then might love thee more, Yet oh! I love thee belter now !

MOORE -I left him in a green


And looking like the oak, worn, but still steady
Amidst the elements, whilst younger
Fell fast around him.

BYRON S Werner.


Tho' time has touch'd her too, she still retains
Much beauty and more majesty.


A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay.

Byron's Manfrecl.
Now then the ills of age, its pains, its care,
The drooping spirit for its fate prepare ;

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And each affection failing, leaves the heart
Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart.

An old, old man, with beard as white as snow.


eye dims, and the heart gets old and slow; The lithe limb stiffens, and the sun-hued locks Thin themselves off, or whitely wither.

BAILEY'S Festus,
Why grieve that Time has brought so soon

The sober age of manhood on?
As idly should I weep at noon
To see the blush of morning gone.

The visions of my youth are past,
Too bright, too beautiful to last.

Fled are the charms that graced that ivory brow;
Where smiled a dimple, gapes a wrinkle now.



Why then doth flesh, a bubble-glass of breath,

Hunt after honour and advancement vain,
And rear a trophy for devouring death,

With so great labour and long-lasting pain-
As if life's days for ever should remain ?

SPENSER's Ruins of Time.
Vaulting ambition overleaps itself.

Seeking the bubble Reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.



"Tis like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
TiH, by wide spreading, it disperse to nought.

Who trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of fame.

SHAKSPEARE The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour,
The path of glory leads but to the grave!

Gray's Elegy.
What various wants on power attend !
Ambition never gains its end.
Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of surfeit and corporeal pain?
And, barr'd from every use of wealth,
Envy the ploughman's strength and health?

Gay's Fables, Who never felt the impatient throb, The longing of a heart that pants And reaches after distant good ?

CowPER The fiery soul abhorr'd in Catiline, In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine: The same ambition can destroy or save, And make a patriot, as it makes a knave.

Pope's Essay on Man 01. sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise By mountains piled on mountains to the skies! Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

Pope's Essay on Man. Thus the fond moth around the taper plays, And sports and flutters near the treacherous blaze;

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