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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.

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

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

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

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.

No. ii.
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.

On Heavenly Hope and Earthly Hope

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1 Written by Ann Taylor.
3 Altered in later editions to

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 Hyma
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile.

I see them on their winding way,
About their ranks the moonbeams play.

Lines written to a March.


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

The Stout Gentleman. The almighty dollar, that great object of universal de votion 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. Ibid.
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. Ibid.
Oh for a seat in some poetic nook,
Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook!

Politics and Poetica
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.




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. Ibid. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. Ibid.


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.

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 a P plauses of his countrymen; his life of danger and hards Hip was uncheered by hope, his death unnoticed.

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

JOHN PIERPONT. 1785–1866.


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,'- may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.

Every Place a Temple

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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.
I only know we loved in vain;
I only feel - farewell! farewell!

When we two parted

In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years.

When we Two parted. 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;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't. Line 51.
With just enough of learning to misquote. Line 66.

As soon
Seek roses in December, ice in June;
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics.

Line 75.
Per verts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms. · Line 326.
Oh, 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 quiverd in his heart.1

Line 826.

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