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THIS, my long suffering and day of grace,
Those who neglect and scorn shall never taste.


Rescue my poor remains from vile neglect.

Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn

To think how modest worth neglected lies; While partial fame doth with her hosts adorn

Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise, Deeds of ill sort, mischievous emprise.-Shenstone.


WITH news the time's in labour, and throws forth Each minute some. Shakspere.

The rabble gather round the man of news,
And listen with their mouths wide open:

Some tell, some hear, some judge of news, some make it, And he that lies most loud, is most believ'd.


Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length,
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright:
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks,
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.

Cowper. The news!-there scarcely is a word, I'll venture here to say, That o'er men's thoughts and fancies holds more universal sway; The old, the young, the grave, the gay, the wealthy and the poor,

All wish on each succeeding day, to hear it o'er and o'er,
Though on each day 't is always chang'd from what
it was before.
J. T. Watson.



DARK night, that from the eye its function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense.



The diligence of trade and noiseful gain,

And luxury, more late asleep were laid: All was the night's, and in her silent reign

No sound the rest of nature did invade.-Dryden.

Now night her course began, and over heaven
Inducing darkness, grateful truce, impos'd
Her silence on the odious din of war:
Under her cloudy covert hath retir'd
Victor and vanquish'd.


-The approach of night, The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck the glade, And the low sun has lengthen'd every shade.-Pope.

This dead of night, this silent hour of darkness,
Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose.


O, treach'rous night!

Thou lend'st thy ready veil to every treason,
And teeming mischiefs thrive beneath thy shade!
Aaron Hill.

Hail eldest Night! Mother of human fear!
Vague solitude where infant man first felt
His native helplessness! Beneath whose drear
And solemn coverture he trembling knelt
To what in thy vast womb of darkness dwelt
Unseen, unknown!

All was so still, so soft, in earth and air,
You scarce would start, to meet a spirit there;
Secure that nought of evil could delight
To walk in such a scene, on such a night! Byron.

Thomas Cooper.

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BORN with as much nobility as would,
Divided, serve to make ten noblemen:
Without a herald; but with so much spirit,
And height of soul, as well might furnish twenty.


Whoe'er amidst the sons

Of reason, valour, liberty, and virtue
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
Of nature's own creating.


How shall we call those noble who disgrace
Their lineage, proud of an illustrious race;
Who seek to shine by borrowed light alone,
Nor with their fathers' glories blend their own?


A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestioned, and his soul serene.
In no man's presence Isaac felt afraid;
At no man's question Isaac looked dismay'd.
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace,
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face;
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he loved.

Burns! thou hast given us a name

To shield us from the taunts of scorn;
The plant that creeps amid the soil
A glorious flower hath borne.
Before the proudest of the earth

We stand with an uplifted brow;
Like us, thou wast a toilworn man,
And we are noble now.

Room for a noble man to pass!
In costly robes? in trappings gay?
A fop tricked out before his glass?
No! clad in sober grey;
A nobleman in heart is he,
With mind for his nobility.


R. Nicol.

George Aspinall.



ON our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals, ere we can effect them.



Those terrors that thou speak'st of did me none,
Though noising loud, and threat'ning high.


A lasting noise, as horrid and as loud
As thunder makes, before it breaks the cloud.



As no tricks on the rope but those that break,
Or come most near to breaking of a neck,
Are worth the sight, so nothing goes for wit
But nonsense, or the next of all to it;

For nonsense being neither false nor true,
A little wit to anything may screw;

And, when it has a while been us'd, of course
Will stand as well in virtue, pow'r, and force,
And pass for sense t' all purposes as good

As if it had at first been understood.

A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the best of men.





THERE as in shade and solitude I wander

Through the green aisles, or, stretched upon the sod, Awed by the silence, reverently ponder

The ways of God;— Your voiceless lips, oh flowers! are living preachers, Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book, Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers

From loneliest nook.

Horace Smith.




WE expect the morning red in vain;
'Tis hid in vapours, or obscured in rain.
The noontide yellow we in vain require;

'Tis black in storm, or red in lightning fire.-Prior.

The sun, from out his southern bower,
Proclaims earth's breathless noontide hour-
Glad hour! and greeted by a smile!
Now hardy tillers quit the soil
To stretch their weary limbs awhile,
By cooling spring, or 'neath the shade
Of beetling rock or forest glade,
And share the meal made sweet by toil.
W. H. Leatham.


MIGHTY states, characterless, are grated
To dusty nothing.


Nothing, thou elder brother ev'n to shade!
Thou had'st a being ere the world was made,
And, well-fixed, art alone of ending not afraid.



Or all the passions that possess mankind,
The love of novelty rules most the mind;
In search of this, from realm to realm we roam,
Our fleets come fraught with every folly home.

For ever seeking some new thing,

Alike the foolish and the sage,
As boys chase butterflies in spring,

In eager hot pursuit engage.
It must be fresh, it must be new,
To tempt the heart, allure the eye;
It may be good, it may be true,
But who would care the thing to view
That wants the gloss of novelty.



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