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For I was as it were a child of thee,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do here. Canto IV. Stanza 184.
'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,
Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words.
Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes
Canto I. Stanzas 123, 124.
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range
The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart,
And few there are whom these cannot estrange;
To love again, and be again undone.
I was most ready to return a blow,
And would not brook at all this sort of thing,
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
I think I must take up with avarice.
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations— Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals-never mind the pain.
Canto II. Stanza I.
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell—
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,— Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,
And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.
And thus like to an angel o'er the dying
Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli,
For love must be sustain'd like flesh and bloodWhile Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly : Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory food.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk;
An infant, when it gazes on a light,
A child, the moment when it drains the breast,
A devotee when soars the host in sight,
An Arab with a stranger for a guest.
A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
Feel rapture, but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping. Canto II. Stanza 196.
Alas! the love of women! it is known
And their revenge is as the tiger's spring,
O love! what is it in this world of ours
Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah! why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh!
As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
And as the spot where they appear
The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;
Their fury being spent by its own shock,
A lady with her daughters or her nieces
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
But all, except their sun, is set.
Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,
In nameless print, that I have no devotion;
Of getting into heaven the shortest way;
My altars are the mountains and the ocean,
Earth, air, stars, all that springs from the great Whole, Who hath produced and will receive the soul.