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SHE bids me hope! and, in that charming word,
My joy, my best belov'd, my only wish!
On such a theme 't were impious to be calm; Passion is reason, transport, temper, here! Young.
NEVER were men so weary of their skins,
-he's sole heir
The sure traveller,
Go, soft enthusiast, quit the cypress groves;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
HE is composed and framed of treachery.
I treated, trusted you, and thought ye mine;
Desire in rapture gazed awhile,
TREASON is but trusted like the fox,
Who ne'er so tame, so cherished, and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.-Shakspere.
Treason doth never prosper; what's the reason?
Sir John Harrington.
By heav'n, there's treason in his aspect!
For know that treason,
How safe is treason, and how sacred ill,
The man who pauses in the paths of treason,
HAD I but pearls of price-did golden piles
A. A. Locke.
A blessed thing the golden sun,
That kisseth morning's dews away;
O'er bud and blade at close of day,
THE garden trees are busy with the shower
One to another down the grassy walk.
This cherry creeper greets in whispers light, While the grim fir, rejoicing in the night, Hoarse mutters to the murmuring sycamore. What shall I deem their converse? would they hail The wild grey light that fronts yon massive cloud, Or the half bow, rising like pillared fire? Or are they sighing faintly for desire That with May dawn their leaves be not o'erflowed, And dews about their feet may never fail.
A. H. Hallam.
There grew a tree, a lofty spreading tree,
Our hours would pass, which converse sweetly made
By winds relieved, whose breezes, as they played,
BEWARE of too sublime a sense
When the clouds have poured their rain,
Brightest shine heaven's starry train
Hope from hence we borrow,
Mine be the holy humble tribulation,
No longer feigned distress, fantastic woe;I know my griefs, but then my consolationMy trust and my immortal hopes-I know. Caroline Bowles.
Ir is a note
Of upstart greatness to observe and watch
Mankind, tho' satirists with jobations weary us,
GREAT minds erect their never-failing trophies
Great conquerors greater glory gain
City, country, all,
Is in gay triumph tempest toss'd,
I scarce could press along. The trumpet's voice
I WILL believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
Put not thy trust in such as use to feign,
Learn to dissemble wrongs, to smile at injuries,
Search, and know all mankind's mysterious ways;
This only, to be safe in such a world as this is.
There are three things a wise man will not trust:
Oh, woe, deep woe, to earthly love's fond trust,
Mrs. E. C. Embury.