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Oh, Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things
Home to the weary, to the hungry cheer, To the young bird the parents' brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'erlabour'd steer ; Whate'er of peace
about our hearthstone clings, Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, Are gather'd round us by thy look of rest ; Thou bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.
These two hated with a hate Found only on the stage, and each more pained
With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate; Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain’d,
Instead of bearing up without debate, That each pulld different ways with many an oath, “ Arcades ambo,” id est-blackguards both.
I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, And heard Troy doubted : time will doubt of Rome,
Of all appeals—although
the power of pathos, and of gold, Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling,- no
Method's more sure at moments to take hold Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow
More tender as we every day behold,
Than that all-softening, overpowering knell,
Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious,
I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse
The tyrant's wish, “ that mankind only had
My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,
It being (not now, but only while a lad)
Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas !
Declared with all his grand discoveries recent,
As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands.
Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
Canto X. Stanza 79.
Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is pass’d in sleep.
Alas!. worlds fall—and woman, since she fell’d
The world (as since that, history, less polite Than true, hath been a creed so strictly held),
Has not yet given up the practice quite. Poor thing of usages ! coerced-compellid, Victim when
oft when right,
Stanzas 23, 24.
'Tis strange, but true ; for truth is always strange ; Stranger than fiction.
Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west,
His hours, and rivals opium and his brides ;
He who hath bent him o'er the dead.
Shrine of the mighty ! can it be,
Lines 106, 107.
Gayer insects fluttering by Ne’er droop the wing o'er those that die, And lovelier things have mercy shown To every failing but their own, . And every woe a tear can claim, Except an erring sister's shame. Lines 416-421.
THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.
Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
Such hath it been shall be-beneath the sun
* “Well, let the world change on,-still must endure
While earth is earth, one changeless race, the poor !