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For never saw I mien or face
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered like a random seed,
Remote from men, thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness :
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a mountaineer ;
A face with gladness overspread,
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred ;
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech, -
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life !
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind,
Thus beating up against the wind.

SWEET STREAM, THAT WINDS. SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid, Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay, busy throng; With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course ; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; Pure-bosomed as that watery glass, And Heaven reflected in her face.


RUTH. SHE stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush
Deeply ripened ; — such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell, --
Which were blackest none could tell;
But long lashes veiled a light
That had else been all too bright.

What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful ?
O happy pleasure ! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways and dress,
A shepherd, thou a shepherdess !
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality :
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea ; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighborhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see !
Thy elder brother I would be,
Thy father, - anything to thee.

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Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace
Hath led me to this lonely place ;
Joy have I had ; and going hence
I bear away my recompense.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes :
Then why should I be loath to stir ?
I feel this place was made for her;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.
Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl ! from thee to part;
For I, methinks, till I grow old
As fair before me shall behold
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall ;
And thee, the spirit of them all!

NARCISSA. FROM "NIGHT THOUGHTS,” NIGHT V. “ YOUNG, gay, and fortunate !" Each yields a

theme. And, first, thy youth : what says it to gray hairs ? Narcissa, I'm become thy pupil now ;| Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.


IT NEVER COMES AGAIN. THERE are gains for all our losses,

There are balms for all our pain, But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts,

And it never comes again.


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Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ;
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his :
This little abstract doth contain that large
Which died in Geffrey : and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief unto as large a volume.

King Fohn, Act ii. Sc. I.




Behold, my lords, As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, Although the print be little, the whole matter I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. And copy of the father : eye, nose, lip,

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot. The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley,

BOYISH AMBITION. The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his smiles ;

But strive still to be a man before your mother. The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger. Motto of No. III. Connoisseur.

COWPER. Winter's Tale, Act ii. Sc. 3.


Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy mother.

Love's Cure, Act ii. Sc. 2. BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable ; He is all the mother's from the top to toe.

SCHOOL-DAYS. Richard III., Act. iii. Sc. I.

The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand,

Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.
The Grave.

R. BLAIR. Whom the gods love die young,” was said of Besides, they always smell of bread and butter. yore.


BYRON. Don Juan, Cant, iv. Stan. 12.

You'd scarce expect one of my age Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,

To speak in public on the stage ; Death came with friendly care;

And if I chance to fall below The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,

Demosthenes or Cicero, And bade it blossom there.

Don't view me with a critic's eye, Epitaph on an Infant.

But pass my imperfections by.

Large streams from little fountains flow, Grief fills the room up of my absent child,

Tall oaks from little acorns grow. Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;

Lines written for a School Declamation. D. EVERETT.
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,

I pray ye, flog them upon all occasions.
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. It mends their morals, never mind the pain.
King John, Aci üi. Sc. 4.
SHAKESPEARE. I Don Juan, Cant. ii.





Love is a boy by poets styled ;

When they are young, they Then spare the rod and spoil the child.

Are like bells rung backwards, nothing but noise Hudibras, Part II. Cant. i.

BUTLER. | And giddiness.

Wit without Money. BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. Whipping, that's virtue's governess,

Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade!
Tutoress of arts and sciences ;
That mends the gross mistakes of nature,

Ah, fields beloved in vain !
And puts new life into dull matter;

Where once my careless childhood strayed, That lays foundation for renown,

A stranger yet to pain ! And all the honors of the gown.

I feel the gales that from ye blow
Hudibras, Part II. Cant. i.

A momentary bliss bestow.
On a Distant Prospect of Eton College.



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Let dogs delight to bark and bite,

For God hath made them so ;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,

For 't is their nature too.

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CARELESS CHILDHOOD. And listens like a three years' child.

Lines added to the Ancient Mariner. WORDSWORTH.

Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth,
When thought is speech, and speech is truth.
Marmion, Introduc. to Cant. ii.

Naught cared this body for wind or weather
When youth and I lived in 't together.
Youth and Age.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence ! Oh, Milk and Water !
Ye happy mixtures of more happy days !

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,

While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ;

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening

prey. The Bard, II. 2.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,

Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies ?

Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more ; — where ignorance is bliss,

'T is folly to be wise.
| On a Distant Prospect of Eton College.

One eare it heard, at the other out it went.
Troilus and Creseide, Book iv.


Children blessings seem, but torments are ;
When young, our folly, and when old, our fear.
Don Carlos.

I remember, I remember

How my childhood fleeted by, — The mirth of its December,

And the warmth of its July. I Remember, I Remember.



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Home Sweet Home!
Mit plasures and palaces shough we may room
Be it ever so humble; there's no place like home!
A charm from the sky seems to hallow as there
which, suck through the world is neer met with elsewhere!

Home, home, a sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home! there's no place like home.

Sohn Stowarı Sayne./
the phene is buried call awhnica Stiff
One ship che lue to eye will mig
But God will Ruso ahuhe analion slips
tuo sund his aurits cut with this



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