« ПретходнаНастави »
A MAD-CAP ruffian, and a swearing jack,
Lets his soul run for nought, as little fearing.
Maintain your rank, vulgarity despise,
THE summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or have smell'd of the bud o'the briar?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!
Your words are like the notes of dying swans-
I Go, I go, look how I go;
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow.
The old Scythians
Painted blind fortune's powerful hands with wings,
I SAW him beat the surges under him,
With a swimmer's stroke Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, And laughing from my lip the audacious brine, Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'er The waves as they arose, and prouder still The loftier they uplifted me.
CAN a king give thee more than is his own?
But then 't is slipp'ry standing for the minion:
IN their non-age
A sympathy unusual join'd their loves;
Nor is crown wisdom any quintessence
Kindness by secret sympathy is tied, For noble souls in nature are allied. There's nought in this bad world like sympathy; 'Tis so becoming to the soul and faceSets to soft music the harmonious sigh,
And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels lace.
Oh! ask not, hope not thou too much
Few are the hearts whence one same touch
Few-and by still conflicting powers
Such ties would make this life of ours
Yes, Yes! that boon, life's richest treat,
The fancy made him glad!
Crown of his cup, and garnish of his dish,
When his young heart first yearn'd for sympathy.
TAKING. TALE. TALENT.
NAY, take my life and all, pardon not that;
Helen the taker, 't is plain to see,
Blackie, from Æschylus.
LIKE a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
For aught that I could read,
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
Hast thou a talent? hide it not,
They gather round, and wonder at the tale
'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts, Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face, When discontent sits heavy at my heart.
TALKING. TALL. TAMENESS.
TUT, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate,
I never, with important air,
My tongue within my lips I rein,
For who talks much must talk in vain.
WINDS rushed abroad
From the four hinges of the world, and fell
May they increase so fast, and spread their boughs
Dark shadows cast, and as his palace tall!-Waller.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Goldsmith.
THOSE that tame wild horses
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
Praise him, each savage furious beast,
That on his stores do daily feast;
And you, tame slaves of the laborious plough,
Your weary knees to your Creator bow.-Roscommon.