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THERE is a cliff whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me; from that place
I shall no leading need.


What I did, I did in honour, Led by the impartial conduct of my soul.-Shakspere. And that odd impulse, which, in wars and creeds, Makes men, like cattle, follow him who leads.



Lo! in the middle of the wood,

The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud,
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green, and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and, turning yellow,
Falls, and floats adown the air.



Approach, observe this perished gauze-like leaf,
Its delicate reticulation scan:

Know that each filament's a precious deed,

And was of life and beauty, once the source;
With strict mechanical exactness framed,

Its function, as its form, determinate.-T. L. Merritt.


METHINKS it were an easy leap

To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon.


Due entrance he disdain'd, and in contempt,
At one slight bound high overleap'd all bound
Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within
Lights on his feet.






I SHALL the effect of this good lesson keep,
As watchman to my heart.


There is a lesson in each flower,
A story in each stream and bower;
In every herb on which you tread
Are written words, which, rightly read,
Will lead you from earth's fragrant sod,
To hope, and holiness, and God.



HEAVEN first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires;
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart—
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.

Letters admit not of a half-renown;
They give you nothing, or they give a crown.
No work e'er gained true fame, or ever can,
But what did honour to the name of man.



A letter from his lady dear, he bless'd
The paper that her hand had travell'd o'er,
And her eyes look'd on; and would think he saw
Gleams of that light she lavish'd from her eyes,
Wandering amid the words of love there trac'd,
Like glow-worms amid buds of flowers.


Do you like letter-reading? If you do,

I have some twenty dozen very pretty ones;
Gay, sober, solemn, rapturous, very true,

And very lying-stupid ones and witty ones-
On gilt-edg'd paper, blue perhaps, or pink,
And frequently in fancy-colour'd ink.

Epis Sargent.




IF the muse lavish her immortal wit
To paint a fading face,

And the firm diamond, the frail honours writ
Upon the brittle glass.

Let no foul word pollute that heavenly ray
Which makes the lines appear;

Lewdness would taint the sunbeams in their way.
Lewdness should ne'er be read but when keen lightnings


To blast the writer's hand, and shake his soul with fear. Watts.


HE that's liberal

To all alike, may do a good by chance,
But never out of judgment.


Beaumont and Fletcher.

For whose well-being,
So amply and with hands so liberal
Thou hast provided all things.


Such moderation with thy bounty join,
That thou may'st nothing give that is not thine;
That liberality is but cast away,

Which makes us borrow what we cannot pay.



1.-FIE on thee-I can tell what thou would'st do. 2.-What, for a counter, would I do but good? 1. Most mischievous foul sin in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself: And all th' imbossed sores and headed evils, That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Would'st thou disgorge into the general world.


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THIS is true liberty, when free-born men, Having to advise the public, may speak out; Which he who can and will, deserves high praise; Who neither can nor will, may hold his peace. What can be juster in a state than this?


Nations will decline so low

From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong
But justice and some fatal cause annexed,
Deprives them of their outward liberty.

Oh, give me liberty!
For were even Paradise my prison,
Still I would long to leap the crystal walls.



O Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream,
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme;
Genius is thine, and thou art fancy's nurse;
Lost without thee! the ennobling powers of verse;
Heroic song, from thy free touch acquires
Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires;
Place me where winter breathes his keenest air,
And I will sing, if Liberty be there;
And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet
In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat.


Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,

Great liberty! how great in plain attire! With the base purple of a court oppress'd, Bowing her head, and ready to expire.

Mild, like all strength, sits crowned Liberty,
Wearing the aspect of a youthful queen;
And far outstretched along the unmeasured sea

Rests the vast shadow of her throne serene.
From the dumb icebergs to the fiery zone,
Rests the vast shadow of that guardian throne.



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LATER age's pride, like corn-fed steed,
Abused her plenty, and fat swoln increase,
To all licentious lust, and gan exceed
The measure of her mean and natural first need.


How would it touch thee to the quick
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious?

The Tiber, whose licentious waves
So often overflowed the neighbouring fields,
Now runs a smooth and inoffensive course.

Go, soul, the body's guest,

Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best,

For truth shall be thy warrant;
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.



The man of pure and simple heart
Through life disdains a double part;
He never needs the screen of lies
His inward bosom to disguise.


Let falsehood be a stranger to thy lips.
Shame on the policy that first began
To tamper with the heart to hide its thoughts!
And doubly shame on that unrighteous tongue
That sold its honesty and told a lie!



When fiction rises pleasing to the eye,
Men will believe, because they love the lie;
But truth herself, if clouded with a frown,
Must have some solemn proof to pass her down.




The day will come when thou must give account
Of every lie, or spoken, or conceived.

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