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Oh that it were my chief delight
To do the things I ought!

Then let me try with all my might

To mind what I am taught. For a Very Little Child.

Who ran to help me when I fell,

And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?

My mother.

My Mother.

REGINALD HEBER. 1783-1826.

ailed the bright promise of your early day.
Yo hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung;
Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.2
Majestic silence!

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid.

By cool Siloam's shady rill
How sweet the lily grows!

Palestine.

Ibid.

Epiphany.

First Sunday after Epiphany. No. it.

When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing

soil.

Seventh Sunday after Trinity.

Death rides on every passing breeze,

He lurks in every flower. At a Funeral. No. i.

Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb.

Thus heavenly hope is all serene,

But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene,
As false and fleeting as 't is fair.

1 Written by Ann Taylor.

2 Altered in later editions to

No. ii.

On Heavenly Hope and Earthly Hope

No workman's steel, no ponderous axes rung,
Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung.

From Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,

Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand. Missionary Hymn

Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile.

I see them on their winding way,

About their ranks the moonbeams play.

Ibid.

Lines written to a March.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

1783-1859.

Free-livers on a small scale, who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea.

The Stout Gentleman.

The almighty dollar,1 that great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages. The Creole Village.

LEIGH HUNT. 1784-1859.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace.

Abou Ben Adhem.

Write me as one who loves his fellow-men.
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Oh for a seat in some poetic nook,
Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!

Ibid.

Ibid.

Politics and Poetics

With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks
To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.

The Story of Rimini

1 See Jonson, page 178.

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SAMUEL WOODWORTH. 1785-1842.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view.

The Old Oaken Bucket.

Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

Ibid.

Ibid.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 1785-1842.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast.
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While like the eagle free

Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea.

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

When looks were fond and words were few.

Ibid.

Poet's Bridal-day Song.

SIR W. F. P. NAPIER. 1785-1860.

Napoleon's troops fought in bright fields, where every helmet caught some gleams of glory; but the British soldier conquered under the cool shade of aristocracy. No honours awaited his daring, no despatch gave his name to the applauses of his countrymen; his life of danger and hardship was uncheered by hope, his death unnoticed.

Peninsular War (1810). Vol. ii. Book xi. Chap. iii

JOHN PIERPONT.

1785-1866.

A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
But executes a freeman's will,

As lightning does the will of God;
And from its force nor doors nor locks
Can shield you, 't is the ballot-box.

A Word from a Petitioner.

From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,
The incense of the heart,1-may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.

Every Place a Temple.

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With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.

I never was on the dull, tame shore,

But I loved the great sea more and more.

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Ibid.

Ibid.

Touch us gently, Time.

2 See Crabbe, page 445.

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LORD BYRON. 1788-1824.

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.

-Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.

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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 6.

Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
Abook's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

With just enough of learning to misquote.

As soon

Seek roses in December, ice in June;

Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,

Line 51,

Line 66.

Or any other thing that's false, before

You trust in critics.

Line 75.

Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms.

Line 326.

Dh,`

Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!

Line 399.

So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd'his own feather on the fatal dart,

And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.1

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Line 826.

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