Such things are, by the author of 'Recommended to mercy'.

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Page 128 - THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year On the earth her deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. The chill rain is falling, the...
Page 158 - Of the hearts that daily break, Of the tears that hourly fall, Of the many, many troubles of life, That grieve this earthly ball...
Page 34 - Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould ; Price of many a crime untold ; Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold...
Page 225 - tis slander ; Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Page 85 - Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music, — summer's eve — or spring, A flower — the wind — the Ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; XXIV.
Page 57 - Me and my friends here, this delightful night, That power itself has not one half the might Of gentleness. 'Tis want to all true wealth ; The uneasy madman's force, to the wise health ; Blind downward beating, to the eyes that see ; Noise to persuasion, doubt to certainty...
Page 20 - Nothing ! if they bite and kick? Out with it, Dunciad ! let the secret pass, That secret to each fool, that he's an ass : The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie ?) The queen of Midas slept, and so may I.
Page 190 - Can such things be, And overcome us like a summer cloud, Without our special wonder...
Page 85 - But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a Scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever...
Page 70 - The clodded earth goes up in sweet-breathed flowers ; In music dies poor human speech, And into beauty blow those hearts of ours, When Love is born in each.

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